Scritched  on  Copper  from  Life  in  1 8a5  "by  his  friend  Brook  Pulham. 


o&Z 


MEDITATIONS 

OF  AN 

AUTOGRAPH   COLLECTOR 


by 
ADRIAN    H.    JOLINE 


"The  undevout  autograph  collector  is  mad' 
-Young.  N.  T.  ix. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS     1902 


Copyright,  1902,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  May,  1902. 


PREFACE 

IT  is  said  that  there  is  a  publishing  house 
in  New  York  which  requires  a  preface  distinct- 
ly explaining  the  purpose  and  contents  of  the 
book.  This  volume  has  no  purpose,  and  its 
contents  must  speak  for  themselves.  If  any 
one  has  an  interest  in  autographs,  he  may 
read  these  pages;  if  he  has  not,  no  preface  will 
entice  him. 

The  kindly  Ik  Marvel,  in  his  American 
Lands  and  Letters,  is  cruel  enough  to  refer  to 
the  seeking  of  autographs  as  "that  dreadful 
fever."  The  remark  is  only  one  of  those  con- 
cessions to  popular  prejudice,  a  pandering  to 
the  public  obliquity  of  judgment,  in  which 
wise  men  sometimes  indulge  without  any  seri- 
ous purpose,  and  for  which  they  would  be 
sorry  if  the}7  paused  to  reflect.  The  mere  fond- 
ness for  autographs  has  nothing  dreadful  or 
feverish  about  it.  Properly  fostered  and  culti- 
vated, it  is  one  of  the  most  gentle  of  emotions. 
The  true  collector  ought  not  to  be  vilified  be- 
cause the  methods  of  pseudo  -  collectors  are 

v 


270626 


Preface 

often  objectionable.  One  might  as  well  cen- 
sure the  innocent  collector  of  coins  because 
some  over-enthusiastic  individual  occasionally 
resorts  to  the  strenuous  expedient  of  assault 
and  battery,  or  highway  robbery,  in  order  to 
increase  his  store.  Really,  I  have  no  apologies 
to  make  for  my  amiable  tribe.  When  such 
men  as  Dr.  Emmet,  Mr.  J.  Pierpont  Morgan, 
and  Mr.  John  D.  Crimmins  collect  autographs, 
we  humble  persons  may  not  be  ashamed  to 
follow  in  their  footsteps — hand  passihus  aequis. 
In  the  Connoisseur  of  October,  1901,  Henry 
Thomas  Scott  writes  concerning  "Rational 
Autograph  Collecting/'  and  expresses  the  opin- 
ion that  interest  in  the  subject  and  the  number 
of  collectors  "steadily  increase."  T  hope  that 
it  is  true,  and,  if  it  be  true,  there  may  be  some 
who  may  find  something  to  appeal  to  them  in 
these  notes  and  jottings,  made  in  the  leisure 
intervals  of  a  professional  life. 

ADRIAN  H.  JOLINE. 

NEW  YORK,  1902. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PORTRAIT   OF    CHARLES    LAMB,    SCRATCHED 
ON   COPPER  -FROM   LIFE,  IN  1825,   BY  HIS 

FRIEND,    BROOK   PATHAM Frontispiece 

FACSIMILE  LETTER   OF   NAPOLEON  III.   .      .   Facing  p.        24 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  W.  M.  THACKERAY  "              66 

PORTRAIT   OF  LAURENCE    STERNE      ...  "              68 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE  "              68 
FACSIMILE  PAGE  OF  STORY  BY  CHARLOTTE 

BRONTE "              72 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  ROBERT   BURNS       .  78 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  ALFRED  TENNYSON  "              88 

PORTRAIT  OF  DOCTOR  SAMUEL  JOHNSON      ,  114 

PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN   KEATS 120 

PORTRAIT  OF  W.   M.   THACKERAY.      ...  184 

FACSIMILE   LETTER   OF   JOSEPH   ADDISON   .  230 

FACSIMILE   LETTER    OF   ALEXANDER    POPE  "            232 

FACSIMILE   LETTER  OF  DAVID   GARRICK     .  238 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  248 
FACSIMILE   LETTER   OF   CHARLES    DARWIN 

(LAST  PAGE) 256 

FACSIMILE  LETTER  OF  JOHN  W1THERSPOON  298 


MEDITATIONS  OP 
AN  AUTOGRAPH  COLLECTOR 


MEDITATIONS  OF 
AS  AUTOGRAPH  COLLECTOR 


IT  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  sit  here,  this  rainy 
afternoon,  with  the  books  and  the  "collec- 
tion" close  at  hand.  I  have  certainly  been 
arranging  that  collection  for  ten  years,  and  it  is 
not  arranged  yet.  If  these  things  continue  to 
increase  in  numbers  I  shall  have  to  resort  to 
the  methods  of  that  old  opium  -  swiller,  De 
Quincey — lock  the  door,  abandon  the  accumula- 
tions, and  seek  a  new  lodging  where  I  may  begin 
all  over  again.  I  believe  there  is  a  tribe  of  Ind- 
ians somewhere  in  Alaska  who  have  the  pleas- 
ing custom  of  burning  their  wigwams  when 
they  find  that  their  goods  and  chattels  are  be- 
coming oppressively  overcrowded,  and  starting 
life  afresh,  unburdened  by  personal  property. 
I  think  I  will  go  to  Alaska  and  collect  totem- 
poles.  A  distinguished  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States,  now  deceased,  used  to 
collect  almanacs,  even  those  of  Ayer  and  Josh 

I 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Billings.  Why  he  did  it  I  cannot  imagine, 
for  he  never  made  a  joke  in  his  life;  he  was  as 
dry  as  the  pages  of  the  Annals  of  Congress  or 
of  my  own  Dictionary  of  American  Political 
Biography.  But  one  must  collect  something, 
even  postage  -  stamps  and  book-plates.  Who 
said  that  man  is  an  animal  which  collects?  It 
must  have  been  Andrew  Lang,  for  he  says  most 
things  nowadays. 

Doubtless  the  "profane  vulgar"  consider  me, 
and  all  other  individuals  of  my  autograph-hunt- 
ing species,  as  members  of  the  common  horde 
of  semi-lunatics  who  gather  birds'  eggs,  butter- 
flies, hotel-paper,  tea-cups,  and  Japanese  sword- 
guards.  They  think  that  I  carry  about  with 
me  a  gilt-bound  volume  and  ask  luckless  mag- 
nates to  write  their  names  in  it.  I  have  always 
had  a  notion  that  the  books  which  the  Sibyl 
brought  to  Tarquinius  Priscus  were  what  are 
known  as  "autograph  books/'  such  as  are 
thrust  in  these  days  under  the  noses  of  senators 
and  generals.  They  suppose  that  I  send  letters 
to  statesmen  and  authors,  requesting  the  favor, 
etc.,  etc.,  and  enclosing  stamp  for  reply.  When 
they  wish  to  be  particularly  kind,  they  tear  the 
signature  from  some  letter  or  document  of  an 
eminent  person  and  present  it  to  me.  To  use 
a  familiar,  contemporaneous  locution,  it  jars  me 
to  reflect  that,  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude, 

2 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  school-girl  with  her  scrap-book  and  the 
fiend  with  his  awful  album  are  all  of  a 
piece  with  me!  It  is  exasperating,  but  one 
must  exercise  patience  and  self-control  even 
when  friends  give  sympathizing  looks,  and 
smile  as  who  should  say,  "It  is  an  amiable 
folly/' 

There  is,  however,  one  evil  thing  about  the 
otherwise  harmless  habit  of  autograph  collect- 
ing. It  fosters  envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all 
uncharitableness.  When  I  glance  over  the 
other  man's  collection  and  find  that  he  has  so 
much  better  specimens  than  mine,  and  even 
several  which  I  have  sought  for  in  vain  through 
those  interminable  Philadelphia  catalogues  and 
the  long  lists  of  Burns  and  the  Benjamins  and 
the  other  busy  B's  of  the  trade,  I  proceed  to 
break  that  commandment  recently  appended  to 
the  decalogue,  "  Thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neigh- 
bor's autographs."  Yet  when  I  go  home  and 
think  over  it,  I  reflect  that  perhaps  I  may  excite 
that  neighbor's  ire  if  I  choose;  but  I  will  be 
magnanimous  and  gloat  secretly  over  my  pos- 
sessions. 

How  very  inconsiderate  some  of  our  great 
people  have  been  in  the  matter  of  epistolary 
composition!  If  Thomas  Lynch,  Jr.,  and  But- 
ton Gwinnett,  and  John  Morton  had  only  un- 

3 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

derstood  the  feelings  of  a  collector,  they  would 
surely  have  favored  their  friends  more  frequently 
with  an  A.  L.  S.,1  or  even  an  A.  N.  S.a  When 
they  were  signing  the  Declaration  on  that 
warm  July  afternoon,  and  committing  them- 
selves to  the  famous  fallacy  that  "all  men  are 
created  equal/'  they  might  have  foreseen  the 
day  when  every  American  collector  would 
begin  his  colligending  career  by  gathering 
"Signers." 

On  reflection,  I  recall  the  fact  that,  historically, 
they  did  not  sign  in  July,  but  dribbled  along 
through  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1776,  and 
even  later,  so  that  some  signed  who  were  not 
entitled  to  sign  and  others  failed  to  sign  who 
ought  to  have  signed;  but  that  is  a  detail.  We 
must  all  cling  loyally  to  the  belief  that  they 
flocked  about  that  table,  one  pleasant  summer 
day,  as  they  are  represented  by  the  accurate 
and  artistic  Trumbull,  their  shins  very  much 
in  evidence,  and  John  Hancock,  clad  in  black, 
and  several  times  bigger  than  any  of  his  fellow- 
congressmen,  sitting  cross-legged,  with  a  mel- 
ancholy expression  of  countenance,  in  the  chair 
of  state.  I  give  the  most  implicit  credence  to 
that  picture,  as  I  do  to  all  those  wonderful 
representations  of  General  George  Washington 
which  make  the  life  of  the  extra-illustrator  a 

1  Autograph  letter  signed.  2  Autograph  note  signed. 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

burden.  All  that  the  younger  Lynch  did  after 
his  single  effort  in  the  signing  way  was  to 
write  one  letter  for  Dr.  Emmet,  and  to  scribble 
his  name  on  the  fly-leaves  of  divers  books. 
As  for  Gwinnett,  I  have  always  thought  that 
old  Lachlan  Mclntosh,  whose  autograph  is 
dear  at  two  dollars,  did  perfectly  right  to  kill 
him. 

Verily,  the  paths  of  the  collector  of  Revolu- 
tionary Americana  are  far  from  being  paths 
of  peace.  I  remember  well  that  in  the  callow 
days  of  youth  I  was  mightily  beset  by  the  desire 
to  acquire  as  my  own  the  sign-manual  of  one 
Simon  Boerum,  who  enjoyed  the  distinction 
of  being  such  an  obscure  Continental  congress- 
man that  he  became  valuable  by  reason  of  his 
unimportance.  There  is  an  eminence  of  small- 
ness  as  well  as  of  greatness,  and  Tom  Thumb 
attained  fame  while  many  contemporary  persons 
of  much  greater  stature  disappeared  from  life 
unhonored  and  unsung.  Think  of  the  glory 
of  being  absolutely  the  most  insignificant 
human  being  on  earth!  Simon — perhaps  we 
may  call  him  Simple  Simon — was  just  that; 
and  when  I  rejoiced  in  owning  an  innocuous 
deed  of  conveyance  whereon  Simon  had  written 
and  subscribed  his  harmless  certificate  of  record, 
far  back  in  1769,  when  he  was  the  clerk  of  our 
County  of  Kings,  I  thought  1  was  the  happy 

5 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

possessor  of  a  gem  of  great  price;  for  the  price 
was  great,  as  a  certain  well-known  Nassau 
Street  expert  can  testify.  But  not  many  years 
later,  that  genial  Democratic  statesman  of  the 
tribe  of  Dan,  who  successfully  combines  politics 
and  the  pursuit  of  autographs,  raked  Long 
Island  with  a  fine  comb,  and  now  every  child 
who  gathers  pebbles  on  the  beach  may  have 
his  Simon  Boerum  if  he  cares  for  such  a 
thing. 

A  plague,  I  say,  on  those  mousers  who  go 
about  finding  new  and  hitherto  unsuspected 
Continental  congressmen.  Just  when  I  think 
that  I  have  finished  my  set,  some  new  man 
turns  up  who  never  served,  of  course,  and  never 
showed  his  classic  countenance  in  Philadelphia; 
but  somebody  once  said  that  he  might  possibly 
be  chosen  to  represent  his  State,  and  that  is 
enough.  His  name  goes  thundering  down  the 
ages  and  there  is  a  blank  in  my  catalogue,  to 
be  filled  only  after  long,  tedious,  and  prayerful 
waiting.  This  sort  of  person  generally  turns 
up  as  a  D.  S.1  He  could  not  write  a  letter,  and 
if  he  did  the  man  who  received  it  burned  it 
promptly.  He  usually  hails  from  North  Caro- 
lina or  New  Jersey.  My  study  of  history  tells 
me  that  North  Carolina  devoted  most  of  her 
energies  during  the  Revolution  to  choosing 

1  Document  signed. 

6 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

congressmen  who  were  unwilling  to  write.  I 
am  seriously  contemplating  besieging  Congress 
for  legislation  to  prevent  further  additions  to 
the  roll. 

George  Birkbeck  Hill  has  given  us  a  charming 
book  in  his  Talks  about  Autographs.  It  might 
have  been  fascinating  if  the  author  had  a  little 
keener  sense  of  humor.  His  bent  is  serious, 
and  he  is  not  happy  when  indulging  in  play- 
ful persiflage.  Still,  no  lover  of  the  business 
should  be  without  a  copy.  When  men  in  Wall 
Street  have  been  particularly  disagreeable  all 
day,  it  is  a  delight  to  stretch  one's  self  in  an 
easy -chair,  with  feet  to  the  hospitable  gas- 
log  which  does  duty  in  the  city  for  the  grand 
old  fireplace  of  our  country  home,  and  ramble 
through  the  pages  of  genial  literary  and  auto- 
graphic gossip.  Yet  Hill  is  not,  after  all,  a  gen- 
uine master  in  the  field.  He  has  not  taken  those 
pains  which  make  the  genius.  Think  of  this ! 

On  page  60  he  quotes  what  he  calls  a  "  strange 
endorsement"  upon  a  letter  of  Cowper,  as  fol- 
lows: 

Capt.  Parker 

on  board  Sarah 

Griffin's  Warf   [Sic] 

Cask  of  wine 

Stone  Bottlells  [Sic] 

A  Cradle  &c. 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

He  appends  a  facsimile,  and  any  one  may  see 
that  the  true  reading  is : 


Cask  of  wine, 
Stone  Bottle  do., 
A  Cradle,  &c. 

Cowper  may  therefore  be  acquitted  of  the  charge 
of  spelling  a  simple  word  like  "bottles"  in  a 
way  which  suggests  too  frequent  absorption 
of  the  contents  of  those  same  bottles.  There 
are  other  mistakes,  but  why  dwell  on  errors? 
These  small  flaws  are  of  little  moment. 

We  collectors  sometimes  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
interior  of  characters  not  vouchsafed  to  the 
rest  of  mankind.  I  wonder  what  Queen  Victoria 
would  have  thought  if  I  had  shown  her  a  letter, 
snugly  buried  in  one  of  my  most  choice  volumes, 
which  she  addressed  to  her  gay  and  gallant 
Premier  Melbourne,  before  she  espoused  Prince 
Albert.  Here  it  is : 

If  Lord  Melbourne  isn't  very  tired,  c'd  he  come 
here?  He  needn't  dress,  but  can  come  just  as  he 
is.  The  Queen  would  see  him  up-stairs  in  her  own 
room.  I  have  heard  much  wh.  enrages  me,  &  it 
w'd  be  such  a  thing  if  you  c'd  come  here  for  a 
minute,  unless  you  are  very  tired;  it  w'd  quiet 
me.  Just  say  yes,  or  no.  If  you  c'dn't  get  your 
carriage  quickly,  I  c'd  send  mine.  I  hear  you 

8 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

spoke  so  beautifully.     The  Duke  must  be  in  his 
dotage. 

Is  it  not  delightful  to  feel  the  humanity  of 
this  artless  utterance  of  the  young  girl  who 
had  just  assumed  the  crown  which  she  wore 
so  nobly  for  more  than  sixty  years?  We  may 
wonder  whether,  when  the  snows  of  eighty-one 
winters  were  on  her  brow,  she  could  recall  dis- 
tinctly the  time  of  her  dashing,  showy  prime 
minister. 

Whenever  I  feel  anxious  about  my  precious 
health,  as  we  old  fellows  are  apt  to  do,  and  am 
complaining  of  the  incompetency  of  my  phy- 
sicians, I  burrow  in  the  mass  of  English  Lit- 
erary over  there  in  the  corner,  just  under  the 
Romney  sketch  and  the  portrait  of  Henry 
Clay,  in  order  to  pull  out  John  Ruskin's  screed, 
which  always  consoles  me.  Thus  writes  the 
master  of  English  prose,  under  date  of  July 
24,  1871 : 

MY  DEAREST  TOM,  — Really  your  simplicity 
about  naughty  me  is  the  most  comic  thing  I  know, 
among  all  my  old  friends.  Me  docile  to  doctors! 
I  watched  them  (I  had  three)  to  see  what  they 
knew  of  the  matter;  did  what  they  advised,  for 
two  days;  found  they  were  utterly  ignorant  of 
the  illness  and  were  killing  me.  I  had  inflamma- 
tion of  the  bowels,  and  they  gave  me  ice!  and  tried 
to  nourish  me  with  milk!  Another  twelve  hours 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

and  I  should  have  been  past  hope.  I  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  a  draught  of  ice-water,  burning  with 
insatiable  thirst — thought  over  the  illness  my- 
self steadily — and  ordered  the  doctors  out  of  the 
house.  Everybody  was  in  an  agony,  but  I  swore 
and  raged  till  they  had  to  give  in — ordered  hot 
toast  and  water  in  quantities,  and  mustard  poul- 
tices to  the  bowels.  One  doctor  had  ordered  fo- 
mentation; that  I  persevered  in,  adding  mustard 
to  give  outside  pain.  I  used  brandy  and  water 
as  hot  as  I  could  drink  it,  for  stimulant — kept 
myself  up  with  it — washed  myself  out  with  floods 
of  toast  and  water — and  ate  nothing  and  refused 
all  medicine.  In  twenty-four  hours  I  had  brought 
the  pain  under — in  twenty-four  more  I  had  healthy 
appetite  for  meat,  and  was  safe — but  the  agony  of 
poor  Joanna !  forced  to  give  me  meat,  for  I  ordered 
roast  chicken  instantly — when  the  doctors,  un- 
able to  get  at  me,  were  imploring  her  to  prevail 
on  me  not  to  kill  myself,  as  they  said  I  should. 
The  poor  thing  stood  it  nobly,  of  course;  none  of 
them  could  move  me  one  whit.  I  forced  them  to 
give  me  cold  roast  beef  and  mustard  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning!  And  here  I  am,  thank  God,  to 
all  intent  and  purpose  quite  well  again — but  I 
was  within  an  ace  of  the  grave — and  I  know  now 
something  of  doctors  that — well,  I  thought  Moliere 
hard  enough  on  them — but  he's  complimentary 
to  what  I  shall  be  after  this.  Thanks  for  all  your 
good  love — but  do  try  to  understand  me  a  little 
better — indocilest,  when  I  choose,  of  human  creat- 
ures— but  yours,  most  affectionately, 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

10 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Mr.  Ruskin  is  amusing  and  his  supreme 
self-satisfaction  is  delightful.  We  are  all  of 
us  vain,  but  not  quite  as  vain  as  that. 

This  fable  teaches,  as  our  boyhood  friend 
JEsop  used  to  say,  that  the  habit  of  intellectual 
domination  will  sometimes  array  a  man  even 
against  his  physician.  Charles  0' Conor  was 
quite  unlike  John  Ruskin,  yet  they  resembled 
each  other  in  their  possession  of  an  indomi- 
table will.  Everybody  knows  the  story  of  Mr. 
O' Conor's  miraculous  rally  after  the  doctors 
had  given  him  up.  He  simply  willed  that  he 
should  live. 

I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  great  lawyer. 
He  was  a  "character."  He  had  a  melancholy, 
subservient  slave  in  his  office,  named  Effing- 
ham.  Really,  that  was  not  his  name,  but  it 
will  do.  Poor  old  Effingham  would  sometimes 
greet  his  master  of  a  morning  with  fawning 
politeness,  hand-rubbing,  genuflecting,  saying, 
"It's  a  fine  day,  Mr.  O'Conor."  Whereupon 
the  jurist,  fixing  a  cold  and  glittering  eye  upon 
his  affable  clerk,  would  reply :  "  Effingham ! 
I  am  in  good  health  and  in  full  possession  of 
my  senses;  I  know  that  it  is  a  fine  day,  and  I 
do  not  need  to  have  you  remind  me  of  it. "  When 
he  walked  down-town  with  his  office-boy,  and 
the  boy  became  separated  from  him  in  the 
crowded  street,  he  would  say  to  the  lad,  in  his 

ii 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

precise  and  frigid  way,  "  Why  do  you  avoid 
me?" 

But  I  am  growing  reminiscent,  and  that  is  a 
sign  of  advancing  years.  We  must  curb  this 
tendency.  We  must  not  let  it  grow  upon  us. 
Presently  we  may  find  ourselves  writing  me- 
moirs, the  last  refuge  of  a  man  whose  proces- 
sion has  gone  by. 


n 

I  DO  not  know  what  is  to  become  of  us  if  this 
type-writing  mania  continues  to  possess 
mankind.  Our  great  men  do  not  write  letters 
now;  they  dictate  their  thoughts  to  stenog- 
raphers, and  one  cannot  even  be  sure  that  the 
machine-made  affair  is  not  signed  by  a  secre- 
tary with  a  rubber  stamp.  It  is  not  easy  to  im- 
agine Washington,  Jefferson,  or  John  Adams 
thus  degrading  the  art  of  correspondence.  It  is 
not  a  question  of  party,  for  Mr.  Roosevelt  and 
Mr.  Bryan  are  neither  of  them  guiltless.  It 
is  sad  to  reflect  that  in  future  ages  our  suc- 
cessor-collectors, engaged  in  making  "sets"  of 
Presidents,  Vice-Presidents,  or  Governors,  will 
be  forced  to  content  themselves  with  the  mo- 
notonous-looking pages  of  type,  and  will  be 
puzzled  to  decide  whether  or  not  the  signature, 
like  John  Phoenix's  famous  autograph,  was 
written  by  "one  of  his  most  intimate  friends/' 
The  type-writing  machine  is  the  discourager 
of  autograph  enterprise,  the  grave  of  artistic 
collecting,  the  tomb  of  ambition.  There  is 

13 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

an  eminent  judge  in  this  town  who  does  his 
own  type-writing,  and  has  the  hardihood  even 
to  print  his  signature  with  the  addition  of 
"X,  his  mark."  Could  depravity  be  carried 
further! 

The  ability  to  spell  correctly  is  not  vouch- 
safed to  all  men.  A  few  moments  ago,  in 
rummaging  about  for  a  missing  A.  L.  S.,  I 
ran  across  this  example: 

HARTFORD,  N.  Y.,  February  6th. 
DEAR  SIR, —  I  dont    thing    it    possible  to  get 
my  photograph.     They   have  been  mostly  ame- 
teur  things. 

Very  truly  yours, 

STEPHEN  CRANE. 

This  reminds  one  of  Artemus  Ward's  cele- 
brated remark  about  Chaucer  being  a  great 
poet,  but  "he  couldn't  spel."  It  shows  too 
the  not  uncommon  error  of  writing  a  word  in 
place  of  another  having  a  somewhat  similar 
sound.  No  doubt  poor  Crane's  mind  was  dwell- 
ing on  other  things  than  spelling. 

Readers  of  American  political  history  will 
recall  the  fact  that  the  enemies  of  Andrew 
Jackson  were  accustomed  to  ridicule  him  for 
his  alleged  illiteracy  and  his  shortcomings  in 
the  spelling  department  of  the  language.  The 
general  habitually  made  his  a's  like  o's,  and 
hence  it  was  charged  against  him  that  he 

14 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

did  not  know  how  to  spell  his  own  name.  I 
have  carefully  examined  a  great  many  letters 
of  the  hero  of  New  Orleans,  and  have  failed 
to  discover  any  evidence  of  ignorance  on  his 
part.  It  is  true  that  his  spelling  was  old-fash- 
ioned, and,  curiously  enough,  his  mistakes 
are  almost  all  made  in  the  matter  of  doubling 
letters.  I  have  one  letter  before  me  as  I  write, 
in  which  I  find  these  words:  "airways,"  "Alla- 
bama,"  "untill,"  and  "dificulty,"  and  he  drops 
the  "g"  in  "bantling/'  A  venerable  friend 
who  knew  the  old  general  tells  me  that  he  used 
to  write  "boosom"  for  "bosom."  Yet  he  never 
seems  to  have  had  any  "dificulty"  with  the 
long,  hard  words.  But,  after  all,  what  does  it 
profit  us  to  find  fault  with  the  spelling  of  the 
stanch  patriot  who  said,  "  The  Federal  Union, 
it  must  be  Preserved !"  and  preserved  it.  One 
of  my  Jackson  letters  is  a  fair  example  of  his 
official  style: 

GEORGETOWN,  18  Nov.  1815. 

SIR, — The  resolution  of  the  legislature  of  New 
York,  which  you  were  charged  to  transmit  to  me, 
expressive  of  their  gratitude  to  myself  and  my 
brave  associates  in  arms  for  the  preservation  of 
New  Orleans,  was  received  in  due  time;  but  a 
multiplicity  of  business  prevented  me  from  ac- 
knowledging its  receipt  sooner. 

For  myself  &  my  associates  I  beg  to  return 
the  most  sincere  thanks  for  the  kind  manner  in 

15 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

which  that  respectable  body  has  been  pleased  to 
speak  of  our  exertions. 

Undoubtedly  these  exertions  were  attended  with 
very  extraordinary  success — but  no  more,  I  think, 
than  we  may  always  look  for  when  our  cause  is 
just  and  Heaven  is  on  our  side.  No  people  in  the 
world  are  more  capable  than  ours  of  the  "  highest 
military  results"  when  they  fight  for  the  dear  in- 
heritance of  their  independence,  if  a  fair  opportu- 
nity be  afforded  them  of  displaying  the  qualities 
which  really  belong  to  them. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be 
With  great  respect 
Yr  mo.   obt.   st. 

ANDREW  JACKSON, 

Excellency  Major  Genl  comdg  D  of 

DANL  D.  TOMPKINS,  the  South 

NEW  YORK. 

There  is  about  this  epistle  that  semi-grandil- 
oquence of  the  period  in  which  it  was  written, 
and  the  usual  appropriation  of  Heaven  as  an 
ally  of  the  side  which  won.  But  it  is  dignified 
and  suitable,  and  quite  unexceptionable,  al- 
though the  general  had  a  slight  accident  when 
he  encountered  the  word  "independence/' 

Any  mention  of  Jackson  naturally  recalls 
his  successor  in  the  Presidency,  the  much- 
maligned  Martin  Van  Buren,  whose  memory 
has  suffered  greatly  because  we  have  allowed 
our  history  to  be  written  for  us  so  largely  by 
New  England  Whigs  and  abolitionists.  I  am 

16 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

rejoiced  that,  in  these  later  days,  some  justice 
has  been  done  to  the  great  lawyer  and  con- 
scientious statesman  in  the  admirable  biography 
which  Edward  M.  Shepard  has  given  us  in  the 
American  Statesmen  series. 

Mr.  Van  Buren,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life, 
began  the  preparation  of  an  Autobiography, 
and  brought  it  down  to  a  time  shortly  before 
his  Vice-Presidency.  It  was  never  finished,  and 
has  never  been  published.  I  had  the  privilege 
of  examining  the  manuscript  some  years  ago, 
and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  circumstances 
have  prevented  the  present  possessor  from  giv- 
ing it  to  the  public.  The  style  is  somewhat 
diffuse,  and  there  are  many  long  discussions 
of  obsolete  matters  of  controversy  which  a  judi- 
cious editor  might  easily  condense;  but  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  historical  value  in  the  record. 
I  ventured  to  transcribe  a  page  relating  to 
John  Quincy  Adams,  which  affords  a  fair  ex- 
ample of  the  contents  of  the  Autobiography  : 

John  Quincy  Adams  was  as  honest  &  incor- 
ruptible as  his  father.  He  was  equally  bold  & 
fearless  in  the  avowal  and  maintenance  of  his 
opinions,  &  in  his  feelings  &  habits  more  Demo- 
cratic. In  respect  to  the  unaffected  simplicity 
of  his  manners  &  the  slight  value  he  placed  upon 
the  pride  &  pomp  of  office,  he  did  not  fall  behind 
any  of  our  Democratic  Presidents,  not  excepting 

17 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Mr.  Jefferson,  who  it  will  be  remembered  by  a 
few,  so  outraged  the  sensibilities  of  the  sticklers 
for  official  dignity  by  wearing  red  breeches  &  tying 
his  horse  to  a  peg,  when  he  had  occasion  to  visit 
the  Capitol.  Brought  up,  as  was  at  that  day 
the  universal  custom,  &  is  still  too  much  the  case, 
in  the  belief  that  there  could  be  nothing  good  in 
our  opponents,  I  entered  public  life  with  strong 
prejudices  against  Mr.  Adams.  Although  I  had 
not  the  good  fortune  to  be  in  favour  with  the  ad- 
ministration, or  to  be  partially  regarded  by  him- 
self whilst  he  was  the  head  of  Mr.  Monroe's  cabinet, 
and  was  ranked  among  opponents  of  his  own 
administration,  from  first  to  last,  my  respect  for 
his  character  as  a  straightforward,  well-meaning 
man  lasted  from  my  first  acquaintance  with  him 
in  my  Senatorial  capacity,  till  the  close  of  his 
life.  His  personal  demeanor  towards  me  was 
invariably  respectful  &  as  cordial  as  I  could  de- 
sire. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Van  Buren 
deliberately  sacrificed  any  chances  he  had  for 
the  Presidential  nomination  in  1844  by  his  let- 
ter against  the  annexation  of  Texas,  "one  of 
the  finest  and  bravest  pieces  of  political  cour- 
age/' and  one  which  "deserves  from  Americans 
a  long  admiration." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  1852  a  good 
deal  of  fun  was  showered  upon  that  stalwart 
veteran,  General  Winfield  Scott,  then  Whig 

1  Shepard's  Van  Buren,  p.  407. 

18 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

candidate  for  the  Presidency,  because  in  some 
letter  of  denial  which  became  public  he  re- 
ferred to  himself  as  writing  it  "after  a  hasty 
plate  of  soup/'  It  may  be  of  interest  to  note 
that  the  expression  was  a  common  one  with 
the  general,  and  that  it  was  employed  semi- 
facetiously.  Here  is  a  letter  of  his  written  in 
1851,  a  year  before  the  one  which  tickled  all 
the  Democrats  so  mightily : l 

SATURDAY,  May  31  [1851]. 

MY  DEAR  GENERAL,— Having  just  made  the 
acquisition  of  a  fine  green  turtle,  I,  on  a  sudden 
thought,  beg  you  to  join  me  in  "  a  hasty  plate  of 
soup  "  to-day,  at  5  o'clock. 

Very  truly  yours, 

WlNFIELD  SCOTT. 
GEN'L  TOTTEN. 

Certainly  there  is  something  laughable  about 
"a  hasty  plate  of  soup/'  suggestive  of  a  stout, 
military  gentleman,  with  napkin  under  chin, 
ladling  the  hot  compound  down  his  throat  in 
a  tearing  hurry,  and  perhaps  spilling  it  upon 
his  gorgeous  uniform.  The  American  people 
will  not  endure  heroes  who  expose  themselves 
to  ridicule,  as  we  have  seen  of  late  in  the  case 
of  an  honored  admiral. 

1  This  is  all  a  mistake,  and  make  mistakes  and  how  fu- 

one  which  I  have  corrected  on  tile  it  is  to  base  conclusions 

page    131,   but   I    let  it    rest  on  premises  which  are  insuffi- 

here  to  show  how  even  I  can  cient. 

19 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  general  was  a  fine  old  gastronomic  ex- 
pert. He  was  inordinately  fond  of  terrapin,  and 
one  of  his  favorite  speeches  was  as  follows: 
"This  little,  ugly,  black-legged  animal  that 
carries  his  house  with  him  is  obliged  to  seek 
his  living  in  the  swamps  and  solitary  coves, 
among  the  rushes,  and  to  burrow  in  mud: 
and  yet  he  is  sought  after  with  painful  dili- 
gence, and  the  dish  prepared  from  his  flesh 
is  honored  at  the  feasts  of  the  rich  and  the 
brave."1 

The  same  friend  who  recorded  this  eloquent 
tribute  to  the  pride  of  Maryland  also  says  that 
he  once  offered  to  bet  a  dinner  that  if  the  general 
should  be  invited  to  dine  with  the  party  at  any 
time  within  a  month,  and  have  terrapin  pre- 
pared by  his  favorite  cook,  he — the  general — 
"would  during  the  dinner  say  and  do  the  fol- 
lowing things  in  manner  following :  He  would, 
while  leaning  his  left  elbow  on  the  table,  hav- 
ing some  of  the  terrapin  on  his  fork,  held  raised 
about  six  inches  above  his  plate,  exclaim :  '  This 
is  the  best  food  vouchsafed  by  Providence  to 
man  !'  and  then  carry  it  immediately  to  his 
mouth.  The  other  thing  he  would  do  was 
that,  leaning  on  the  table  in  manner  aforesaid, 
he  would  pour  wine  from  one  glass  into  anoth- 
er." Nobody  took  the  bet. 

1  Gen.  E.  D.  Keyes,  Fifty  Years'  Observations. 
20 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

A  distinguished  New  York  lawyer  tells  me 
that  he  once  attended  a  dinner  at  Francis  B. 
Cutting's  house,  where  the  general  was  a  guest, 
and  that  he  saw  the  famous  soldier  drink  more 
claret  than  he  ever  supposed  a  mortal  man  could 
absorb.  But  a  giant  six  feet  four  inches  in 
height  and  bulky  in  proportion  requires  more 
sustenance  than  a  person  of  ordinary  dimen- 
sions, and  as  the  general  lived  to  within  a  fort- 
night from  his  eightieth  birthday,  neither  ter- 
rapin nor  wine  could  have  injured  him  very 
much. 

The  general,  besides  being  a  royal  gourmand 
and  a  person  of  unusual  size,  was  probably  as 
vain  a  man  as  may  be  discovered  outside  of  the 
realm  of  literature.  If  one  should  adopt  George 
Derby's  numerical  system  of  comparison,  and 
should  say  that  the  vanity  of  the  most  self- 
conceited  author  in  the  world — he  still  lives, 
but  I  dare  not  give  his  name — might  be  rep- 
resented by  65,  Scott's  self  -  appreciation  must 
be  at  least  97.  General  Keyes  was  reading 
to  him  an  article  on  Henry  Clay,  in  which  the 
size  of  Clay's  mouth  was  referred  to,  and  the 
writer  had  added  that  Burke,  Mirabeau,  and 
Patrick  Henry  all  had  mouths  of  extraordinary 
size,  concluding  with  the  remark,  "All  great 
men  have  large  mouths. "  "  All  great  men  have 
large  mouths!"  exclaimed  the  general.  "Why, 

21 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

my  mouth  is  not  above  three-fourths  the  size 
it  should  be  for  my  bulk!"1 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  general 
gave  to  mankind  what  is  perhaps  the  most 
frankly  egotistical  autobiography  ever  known. 
He  usually  refers  to  himself  as  "  Scott."  I  have 
just  found  a  letter  of  the  general's  which  gives 
a  fair  view  of  his  method  of  judging  those  who 
declined  to  bow  down  and  worship  him.  It  was 
written  to  Hon.  James  Monroe — not  the  Presi- 
dent, but  a  member  of  Congress  from  New 
York: 

AUGUSTA,  MAINE,  March  12,  1839. 

Twelve  o'clock  at  night. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  received  three  letters 
here  from  you,  written  at  Washington,  and  am 
infinitely  hurt  on  the  subject  of  the  claim  to  the 
small  sum  of  $19.52  which  Mr.  Wright  promised 
to  move  to  have  inserted  by  way  of  amendment 
in  some  appropriation  bill  which  had  passed  the 
House  of  Representatives.  So  much  for  my  strict 
attention  to  public  duties;  for  if  I  could  have 
come  by  Washington  instead  of  proceeding  from 
one  important  sendee  to  another — from  the  Cher- 
okee country  to  the  Canada  border,  direct,  the 
account,  instead  of  being  placed  in  the  hands 
of  that  ass,  Mr.  Attorney  -  General  Grundy,  would 
have  been  allowed  as  a  matter  of  course,  without 
dissent  or  hesitation.  But  he  who  devotes  him- 
self to  the  public,  need  not  hope  to  find  anybody, 
in  office,  willing  to  attend  to  his  private  interests. 
1  Keyes,  Fifty  Years'  Observations,  p.  10. 
22 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  am  truly  disgusted  with  the  illiberality  and  in- 
justice I  have  experienced  in  this  small  matter — 
small  to  the  public;  but  so  great  to  me  as  almost 
to  cripple  my  capacity  to  be  useful  to  that  public. 
.  .  Your  friend, 

WINFIELD  SCOTT. 

It  is  certainly  indicative  of  a  lack  of  sense 
of  proportion,  this  idea  that  a  matter  of  $19.52 
should  cripple  the  usefulness  of  so  great  a  man. 
It  is  not  hard  to  understand  why  he  should  have 
been  about  the  worst  defeated  of  the  unsuccess- 
ful candidates  for  the  Presidency. 

Perhaps  it  is  unwise  for  a  collector  to  be  om- 
nivorous. One  is  disposed  to  sympathize  with 
the  German  scholar  who  devoted  a  life  to  the 
Greek  noun,  and  upon  his  dying  bed  lamented 
that  he  had  not  limited  himself  to  the  dative 
case.  But,  truly,  a  devoted  disciple  of  the  cult 
will  not  be  satisfied  by  collecting  in  a  single 
line.  My  friend  Ambrose  was  devoted  to  Na- 
poleoniana.  He  spurned  the  tempting  literary, 
the  attractive  military,  and  the  insidious  dra- 
matic; all  his  enthusiasm  was  reserved  for  his 
special  prizes,  and  he  revelled  particularly  in 
the  undecipherable  scrawls  of  the  great  empe- 
ror. He  carried  his  hobby  so  far  as  to  delight 
even  in  Napoleon  the  Little,  who  called  himself 
"the  Third/'  to  leave  room  for  the  poor  little 
"Aiglon."  How  my  friend  ever  came  to  part 

23 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

with  them  I  do  not  know,  but  one  day,  in  a  fit 
of  generosity,  after  I  had  discovered  for  him 
a  few  lines  of  Napoleon  I.  which  resembled  a 
combination  of  the  worst  misdeeds  of  Rufus 
Choate,  Horace  Greeley,  and  Lord  Houghton, 
he  presented  to  me  three  letters  of  Louis  Napo- 
leon, all  addressed  to  a  person  called  "Lizzy/' 
who  was,  under  the  later  empire,  "  Madame  la 
Comptesse  de  Beauregard. "  Here  is  one  of  them : 

DEAREST  LIZZY,  — I  hope  when  the  first  im- 
pression will  be  gone  you  will  find  that,  the  neces- 
sity of  my  marrying  being  accepted,  I  could  do 
nothing  better.  You  will  find  that  person  without 
any  prejuges  and  without  the  morgue  of  a  foreign 
princess.  Tell  allways  to  Giles  what  you  wish 
I  may  do  for  you,  and  believe  that  my  sincere 
affection  for  you  will  never  cease. 

This  was  written  on  January  21,  1853.  On 
January  29  he  married  "that  person/'  to  wit, 
Eugenie  Marie  de  Montijo.  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  name  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  Lizzy  was 
to  tell  what  she  wished  was  "  Giles/'  but  I 
observe  that  Louis  Napoleon  and  General  Jack- 
son thought  alike  on  one  subject,  the  word 
"allways/'  A  little  later  we  find  the  emperor 
writing  to  "dearest  Lizzy"  —  now  Comptesse 
de  Beauregard — "I  shall  give  to  you  at  the 
end  of  the  month  the  150,000  francs."  For 
Lizzy's  sake  let  us  hope  that  he  paid  promptly. 

24 


yC«T^ 


v  *-- 


4  trt^^       y 


s  £ 


*t^^* 

y 


v-.,        ^      X^     y 


«•-«/ 


£&x        y   .  -^         /  / 

y*  i  c  Y  <•       /  / 


/    ' 
' 


*  x- 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

But  little  did  he  think  that  the  records  of  his 
confidences  would  rest,  half  a  century  later, 
in  the  possession  of  an  obscure  person  in  "the 
States." 

These  meditations  remind  me  somewhat  of 
the  Confessions  of  the  Opium -Eater,  because 
they  are  so  different,  as  somebody  once  said 
about  something  else;  I  have  no  time  to  look 
up  the  record.  Why  is  it  that  my  mind  goes 
constantly  back  to  that  odd,  wonderful  old 
man  who  was  such  a  nuisance  to  his  friends  and 
who  wrote  so  charmingly?  Over  there  in  the 
book-case  where  I  keep  the  manuscripts  of 
Southey's  Curse  of  Kehama  and  Tom  Moore's 
sugary  Epicurean,  is  a  volume  of  proof-sheets 
of  De  Quincey's  Leaders  in  Literature,  with  his 
comical  lectures  to  the  compositor  crowding 
the  margins,  all  in  the  neat  little  chirography 
so  characteristic  of  the  man.  He  says  to  the 
printer : 

To  Comp'r.  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  stop 
after  dedicated?  How  does  the  Comp'r  construe 
the  passage?  "  to  heav'n  "  depends  upon  dedicated, 
and  should  follow  it  without  a  vestige  of  any  stop 
whatever — not  so  much  as  the  ghost  of  a  departed 
comma. 

And  later  he  displays  his  insular  hostility  to 
the  people  who  printed  the  first  collected  edition 
of  his  works,  and  paid  him  for  them,  in  this  note : 

25 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Cloistral  surely  is  the  adjective,  not  cloister al, 
which  was  an  impudent  Yankee  act  of  licentious 
change. 

This  letter  was  written  to  his  publishers 
(Taylor  &  Hessey),  probably  about  1814,  as 
the  water-mark  on  the  paper  is  of  that  year. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — This  is  the  beginning  up  to 
the  part  you  already  have.  There  is  a  long  note 
to  come  in  at  p.  3  (but  on  a  separate  sheet  and  half- 
sheet  of  paper)  which  I  am  afraid  you  will  think 
irrelevant,  as  indeed  it  is.  Yet  people  are  so  much 
amused  always  with  literary  gossip  about  authors 
that  they  know — as  Crabbe,  Maturin,  &c — that  I 
do  not  think  it  would  be  complained  of.  And  it 
would  much  please  me  if  it  were  retained,  on  ac- 
count of  the  main  proposal,  which  would  in  this 
situation  attract  more  attention.  However,  we 
must  all  be  resigned  to  the  will  of  Editors. 
Yours,  in  great  hurry, 

THOS  d.Q. 

The  bit  of  Phaedrus  which  remains,  which  is  the 
best  bit,  and  The  Paris,  are  the  best  part.  I  have 
been  obliged  to  alter  much,  but  I  am  writing  as 
fast  as  I  can. 

He  was  "  a  little,  pale-faced,  woe-begone,  and 
attenuated  man,  with  a  small  head,  a  peculiar 
but  not  a  large  brow,  and  lustreless  eyes;  yet 
one  who  would  pour  into  your  ear  a  stream  of 
learning,  and  talk  like  one  inspired— or  mad."  J 

1  Gilfillan,  quoted  by  S.  C.  Hall. 
26 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

He  dwelt  so  much  in  his  talk  upon  his  many 
bodily  infirmities  that  Lamb  said,  "  He  should 
have  employed  as  his  publishers  'Pain  & 
Fuss'"  (Payne  &  Foss).  "A  most  strange 
creature/'  said  Lockhart.  "The  greatest  mas- 
ter of  language/'  said  D.  M.  Moir.  Perhaps 
this  was  exaggerated  praise,  but  as  Leslie 
Stephen  justly  remarks,  "his  fine  musical  ear 
and  rich  imagination  enabled  him  to  succeed 
so  far  as  to  become  one  of  the  great  masters  of 
English  in  what  he  calls  the  'department  of 
impassioned  prose/' 

While  we  are  on  the  subject  of  De  Quincey, 
his  familiar  words  recur  to  us:  "For  if  once 
a  man  indulges  himself  in  murder,  very  soon 
he  comes  to  think  little  of  robbing;  and  from 
robbing  he  comes  next  to  drinking  and  Sabbath- 
breaking,  and  from  that  to  incivility  and  pro- 
crastination." So  it  is  with  the  autograph  col- 
lector who  suffers  himself  to  be  led  astray 
after  portraits  or  wanders  into  the  dangerous 
paths  of  extra-illustrating.  He  should  restrict 
himself  severely  to  the  one  essential  thing  and 
should  not  be  enticed  into  perilous  pursuits. 
Insatiate  collector,  will  not  one  hobby  suffice? 
Still,  1  confess  that  the  fugacious  portrait  has 
a  charm  about  it  which  makes  a  powerful  appeal ; 
the  only  objection  to  the  quest  of  the  plate  is 
that  it  divides  the  attention,  diverts  the  energies, 

27 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

and  scatters  the  forces  of  the  ardent  hunter. 
Some  day,  however,  I  mean  to  give  expression 
of  my  views  concerning  the  awful  sin  of  extra- 
illustration ;  and  I  feel  that  I  may  be  permitted 
to  do  so  because,  although  not  by  any  means 
the  chief  of  sinners,  I  may  say,  as  Napier  did 
(or  was  it  Lord  Ellenborough,  or  perhaps  Michael 
John  Barry,  in  Punch  ?)  so  many  years  ago, 
"  Peccavi  I" 


Ill 

THE  peaceful  meditations  of  the  gentle 
and  inoffensive  autograph  collector  are 
frequently  disturbed  by  the  painful  reflection 
that  some  of  his  valuable  acquisitions  may 
not  be  autographs,  after  all.  He  is  not  par- 
ticularly alarmed  by  the  danger  of  forgery,  for, 
except  in  the  matter  of  highly  expensive  items, 
the  peril  of  deliberate  falsification  is  little  to 
be  feared.  There  have  been  instances  where 
rogues  have  preyed  upon  the  credulousness  of 
careless  but  enthusiastic  collectors,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Burns  manuscripts,  and  the  absurd 
performances  of  that  idiotic  Frenchman  who 
snapped  up  examples  of  Pontius  Pilate,  Al- 
cibiades,  Socrates,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  Ho- 
mer, Alexander  the  Great,  and  Judas  Iscariot 
— it  was  almost  as  bad  as  that.  Then  no  stu- 
dent of  American  proclivities  can  ever  forget  the 
appalling  record  of  Robert  Spring,  who  skilfully 
fabricated  Washingtons,  Franklins,  Lord  Nel- 
sons, and  any  eminent  worthy  who  happened 
to  be  in  demand.  He  sometimes  pretended  to 

29 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

be  the  daughter  of  Stonewall  Jackson,  com- 
pelled by  poverty  to  part  with  family  papers, 
and  he  achieved  the  honor  of  a  sketch  in  Ap- 
pleton's  Cyclopaedia  of  American  Biography. 
But  he  departed  this  life  in  1876,  and  since  his 
day  we  have  all  grown  more  wary.  The  labor 
and  expense  of  manufacturing  a  really  decep- 
tive autograph  letter  so  cunningly  as  to  deceive 
a  prudent  person  is  too  great  to  afford  any 
serious  inducement  to  the  pursuit  of  that  species 
of  industry.  Our  misgivings  come  from  inno- 
cent copies  and  from  the  confusion  of  names. 
It  was  only  a  few  days  ago  that  I  rejoiced  in 
discovering  among  a  friend's  memorabilia — 
kindly  placed  at  my  disposal — this  relic  of  the 
closing  days  of  the  Rebellion: 

WAR  DEPARTMENT,  CHARLOTTE,  N.  C., 

April  25,  1865. 

GEN'L,  —  Should  you  think  it  impracticable 
to  move  off  the  infantry  and  artillery,  allow  Lt. 
Gen'l  Hampton  to  receive  such  of  the  men  of  those 
arms  as  may  desire  to  join  the  cavalry  service,  to- 
gether with  such  transportation  and  other  animals 
as  they  require.  Very  respectfully 

Your  ob't  serv't, 

J.  C.  BRECKINRIGE, 
GEN'L  J.  E.  JOHNSTON,  Sec.  of  War. 

GREENSBORO,  N.  C. 

I  confess  that  I  did  not  pause  to  observe  that 
the  name  of  the  Confederate  Secretary  of  War 

30 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

was  incorrectly  spelled,  for  here  was  a  letter 
written  only  the  day  before  Johnston  surren- 
dered. My  friend  was  quick,  however,  to  inform 
me  that  it  was  a  copy,  in  Johnston's  hand, 
of  the  last  despatch  received  by  him  from  the 
dying  government  of  the  Southern  Confederacy. 
I  have  taken  care  that  my  executors  shall  not 
put  it  off  on  any  unsuspecting  purchaser  as  an 
original.  It  is  worthy  of  preservation  as  it  is, 
but  it  is  not  the  thing  it  seems  to  be,  and,  strange 
to  say,  the  writing  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  for- 
mer Vice-President  of  the  United  States. 

It  was  not  so  long  ago  that  a  very  reputable 
dealer  sent  to  me  a  fine  letter  by  a  rare  Con- 
federate general — autographically  rare,  I  mean 
— which  turned  out  to  be  a  copy  made  by  John 
A.  Campbell,  once  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court  and  a  man  of  infinitely  greater  distinction 
than  the  military  person  in  question.  These 
are  the  things  which  cause  us  to  experience  a 
dreadful  sensation  of  uncertainty  about  the  con- 
tents of  our  cabinets  and  portfolios. 

There  is  another  danger  which  may  beset 
the  path  of  the  unwary  enthusiast,  but  which 
has  no  terrors  for  the  expert — the  modern  "re- 
production "  by  the  aid  of  photography.  They 
do  wonderful  work  in  these  days,  and  I  was 
once  deceived  for  just  a  moment.  His  Reverence 
the  D.D.  and  I  were  enjoying  the  hospitality 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

of  the  accomplished  and  erudite  Horace  Hart, 
Comptroller  of  the  Clarendon  Press,  in  his  at- 
tractive den  in  the  University  Printing  Office 
at  Oxford,  where,  by- the- way,  they  divide  the 
building  into  "  Bible  Side  "  and  "  Learned  Side, " 
conveying  the  idea  that  learning  and  the  Bible 
are  as  far  apart  as  North  and  South.  Mr. 
Hart  had  just  given  me  a  genuine  letter  of 
Gladstone,  and  he  turned  over  the  pages  of  a 
portfolio  from  which  he  drew  a  quarto  sheet. 
"Ah,  old  Sam  Johnson,  the  humbug!"  he  said. 
11  See  how  he  writes  to  his  wife : '  Dearest  Tetty, — 
After  hearing  that  you  are  in  so  much  danger 
as  I  apprehend  from  a  hurt  on  a  tendon,  I  shall 
be  unhappy  till  I  know  you  are  recovered/  and 
so  forth.  Here,  you  can  have  this/'  and  he  gave 
it  to  me,  a  genial  smile  irradiating  his  scholarly 
countenance.  My  heart  jumped  as  I  seized  the 
paper,  but  the  feel  of  it  told  me  instantane- 
ously that  it  was  only  one  of  the  marvellous 
products  of  that  amazing  "Clarendon  Press/' 

There  should  be  some  statute  to  prevent  two 
distinguished  personages  from  having  the  same 
name.  How  was  I  to  know  that  Benjamin 
Harrison,  the  Signer,  had  a  son  of  that  name, 
who  appears,  however,  to  have  been  contented 
to  remain  obscure,  and  who  wrote  letters  con- 
temporaneously with  his  patriotic  parent.  A 

32 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

few  days  ago  a  smiling  expert  remarked  to 
my  face,  "  Gratz  says  that  your  John  Vining, 
of  Delaware  (Old  Congress,  1784-86),  must 
have  been  the  father  of  the  congressman/' 
It  is  the  sad  truth,  for  my  letter  is  dated  in  1767 
and  the  congressman  was  born  in  1758.  So 
there  is  another  gap.  Then  there  is  John 
Gardner,  of  Rhode  Island,  who,  I  find,  has  smug- 
gled himself  into  my  set  where  his  son  ought  to 
be.  It  is  simply  distressing,  and  when  I  be- 
come aware  of  the  fact  that  I  have  been  eagerly 
picking  up  the  pen-marks  of  my  great-great- 
great  grandfather  under  the  impression  that 
they  were  those  of  his  son,  Philip  Livingston, 
the  Signer,  I  am  tempted  to  send  the  whole 
mass  of  paper  to  Bangs  and  take  up  the  fad  of 
old  furniture.  The  pangs  I  have  suffered  in  the 
effort  to  find  out  whether  a  certain  letter  was 
written  by  George  Eliot  or  by  Lewes  defy  de- 
scription. I  can  accept  with  equanimity  the 
documents  of  the  old  French  kings,  because  we 
all  know  that  the  kings  rarely  signed  any- 
thing, and  that  their  secretaries  did  the  work 
for  them,  so  that  we  have  no  illusions  about 
these  royal  records.  But  George  Eliot  should 
have  made  Lewes  refrain  from  imitating  her 
chirography  and  thus  rendering  the  lives  of 
long-suffering  collectors  a  burden  to  them. 
This  genuine  Jetter  of  George  Eliot  at  last 
3  33 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

came  into  my  hands.  It  is  addressed  to  "My 
very  dear  Martha/'  and  is  dated  "Coven- 
try, May  2lst,  1841."  It  is  signed,  in  a  flowery 
fashion,  "Clematis/'  She  says: 

Being  at  length  quite  naturalized  in  this  our 
adopted  country,  and  at  liberty  to  stretch  the  wings 
of  thought  &  memory  behind  my  own  nest  &  bush, 
I  am  determined  to  remind  you  of  my  existence 
&  to  enlighten  you  as  the  metaphysician  says 
concerning  its  modes.  But  the  desire  for  similar 
information  about  you  is  paramount  to  persuad- 
ing me  to  write,  &  I  have  as  many  queries  rising 
to  my  lips,  as  if  you  were  here  to  have  them  oral- 
ly delivered,  would  make  you  wish,  like  Rosalind, 
that  the  answers  were  corked  up  in  you  like  wine 
in  a  bottle,  so  as  to  pop  forth  one  after  another. 
I  imagine  an  interesting  event  must  be  approach- 
ing amongst  you  similar  to  me.  We  expect  soon 
to  enter  on  our  family  chronicle,  no  other  you  will 
guess  than  the  marriage  of  my  brother,  which 
I  hope  will  occur  on  the  8th  of  June.  Your  un- 
deserved affection  will  I  think  cause  you  to  rejoice 
with  me  in  the  rich  blessings  that  are  contained 
and  superadded  to  me  in  our  new  abode.  You 
will  remember  that  I  had  forebodings  as  to  the 
influence  of  a  change  on  my  dear  father,  these 
are  all  dissipated  and  I  can  decidedly  say  that  I 
never  before  saw  him  so  happy  as  he  apparently 
is  at  present.  ...  If  it  were  permissible  to  ex- 
press a  regret  amid  so  many  unmerited  mercies, 
I  should  mention  my  lack  of  a  free  range  for  walk- 
ing which  I  so  enjoyed  at  Griffe,  with  the  depriva- 
tion of  that  "  propinquity  of  shade  "  of  which  I  am 

34 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

a  not  less  ardent  lover  than  Cowper  himself.  .  .  . 
It  is  the  prerogative  of  friendship  to  dignify  the 
gift  even  of  a  few  hairs,  &  I  question  whether  from 
a  bald  friend  we  should  not  cherish  the  paring  of 
a  nail  as  a  relic — hence  I  draw  an  inference  favour- 
able to  the  prospects  of  my  worthless  letter,  which 
I  am  sure  to  hope  you  will  receive  with  pleasure 
as  a  proof  of  the  remembrance  &  affection  of  your 
true  CLEMATIS. 

Then  there  is  John  Dryden,  whose  autograph 
is  not  by  any  means  common.  I  had  long 
rejoiced  in  two  "  documents  signed/'  and  amused 
myself  with  the  confident  belief  that  I  possessed 
the  veritable  sign -manual  of  the  dramatist 
and  laureate.  To  be  sure,  one  document  was 
signed  "John  Driden,"  and  that  should  have 
aroused  suspicion,  but  my  nature  is  unsus- 
picious, and  spelling  of  names  in  those  times 
was  not  an  exact  science.  Now,  after  a  little 
research,  I  discover  that  these  signatures  may 
be  of  the  poet's  cousin,  "John  Driden,"  as  he 
was  wont  to  write  the  name,  and  I  am  in  the 
depths  of  acute  despair.  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  vendor  intentionally  deceived  me ;  he  was  as 
foolish  as  I  was,  but  I  have  learned  a  salutary 
lesson.  It  is  still  possible  that  I  have  the  real 
autograph  of  the  great  man,  but  when  once  in 
doubt  we  are  lost. 

Dismissing  painful  thoughts  like  these,  let 
us  enjoy  those  pleasures  which  come  to  the 

35 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

disciples  of  the  Religio  Autographii — if  such  an 
assault  on  the  Latin  tongue  may  be  forgiven. 
Doubtless  one  may  not  murder  a  dead  lan- 
guage. We  have  our  genuine  examples,  beyond 
any  doubt  or  cavil,  and  these  we  may  pore  over 
without  being  beset  by  nervous  apprehensions. 

My  mind  is  agitated,  for  I  am  wholly  unable 
to  decide  whether  or  not  it  is  a  good  plan  to  as- 
semble my  treasures  in  what  are  known  as 
"  extra-illustrated  "  books.  When  they  are  scat- 
tered about  in  casual  portfolios  and  wrappers, 
they  seem  to  appeal  to  me  to  combine  them, 
but  after  I  have  made  the  combination  they 
appear  to  lose  a  large  measure  of  their  attrac- 
tiveness. Extra  -  illustrated  books  are  the  sep- 
ulchres of  portraits,  but  I  doubt  whether  it  is 
wise  to  convert  them  into  catacombs  of  auto- 
graphs. It  is  all  very  well  to  take  some  in- 
nocuous historical  or  biographical  work  and 
to  overload  it  with  plates,  adding  a  few,  but 
very  few,  minor  autographs;  but  it  really  be- 
littles a  fine,  full,  and  interesting  letter  to  in- 
sist upon  its  permanent  association  with  any- 
thing else,  book  or  portrait.  A  good  letter  has 
an  individuality,  and  even  an  appended  portrait 
seems  to  detract  from  its  absolute  purity.  If 
one  must  marry  a  letter  to  a  portrait,  the  por- 
trait must  be  one  of  the  rarest,  a  member  of  the 
aristocracy  of  portraits.  Still,  I  confess  to  a 

36 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

weakness  for  some  of  the  engravings,  and  I 
sneakingly  hoard  those  which  I  encounter  in 
the  seductive  catalogues,  while  I  ostentatiously 
utter  a  feeble  protest  against  the  craze. 

My  "  extra-illustrated  "  books — it  is  an  abomi- 
nable title — are  becoming  altogether  too  numer- 
ous, and  are  crowding  out  their  betters.  But 
when  I  wander  over  to  the  cases  in  the  south- 
west corner  of  the  library,  where  they  most 
do  congregate,  and  fondly  scan  their  crushed- 
levant  bindings,  I  am  not  quite  willing  to  con- 
sign them  to  the  obscurity  of  a  back  row  or 
to  send  them  to  the  auction-room.  I  take  down 
the  Iroingiana,  the  Book  Lover's  Enchiridion, 
the  Letters  of  the  Colmans,  Forster's  Dickens, 
Crabbe  Robinson's  Diary,  Kemble's  Retire- 
ment from  the  Stage,  and  the  six-volume  Life 
of  Bryant,  with  the  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  and 
I  find  them  full  of  comfort.  Augustin  Daly 
contrived  to  get  together  many  good  things, 
and  the  last-named  book  seems  adorable  to 
the  old  fogy  who  dwells  fondly  in  recollections 
of  mid-century  American  literature.  I  wish  I 
could  invite  the  cold  and  lonesome  statue  of 
the  immortal  author  of  Marco  Bozzaris,  sitting 
over  in  the  Park,  to  abandon  his  solitary  post 
and  come  in  to  warm  himself  between  the  cosey 
sheets  of  my  goodly  quarto,  which  boasts  more 
portraits  than  pages  of  text. 

37 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  am  referring  to  the  Duyckinck  Halleck, 
which  is  without  autographs.  It  must  have 
been  either  General  James  Grant  Wilson  or 
Prosper  M.  Wetmore  who  illustrated  my  two- 
volume,  large-paper  edition  of  the  Life  of  Halleck, 
for  it  contains  matter  which  could  not  very 
well  come  from  any  other  source.  There  is  a 
letter  from  General  Wilson  to  Wetmore  about 
the  book;  one  from  the  poet's  sister,  Maria,  to 
Wilson;  one  from  James  Lawson,  Forrest's  ex- 
ecutor, to  Wetmore;  and  other  things  which 
could  have  been  obtained  only  from  some  one 
closely  associated  with  Halleck;  but,  strangely 
enough,  there  is  no  letter  of  Halleck  himself. 
There  is  one,  however,  in  the  large  volumes 
of  Authors  at  Home.  He  is  writing  to  a  futile 
person  who  beset  American  men  of  letters  for 
autographs,  under  various  pretences — I  will  not 
give  his  name: 

GUILFORD,  CT.,   May  7,   '67. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  from 
your  favor  of  the  3d  inst.  that  you  have  been  for 
so  long  a  time  suffering  severely  from  ill-health. 
Allow  me  to  beg  you  to  refrain  from  further  mental 
exertion,  as  you  have  been  advised,  until  your 
strength  is  fully  restored.  Your  future  writings 
and  their  readers  will  alike  benefit  by  the  expres- 
sion of  thoughts  matured  by  calm  and  quiet  med- 
itation and  arrangement.  I  have  been  highly 
gratified  by  the  "Extracts"  you  have  so  kindly 

38 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

sent  me.  Their  publication  in  a  volume  would 
do  you  great  credit,  and  make  you  useful  in  your 
pleasant  labors,  &  I  should  be  most  glad  to  aid 
you  in  prdcuring  it,  had  I  any  influence  with  pub- 
lishers, but  my  experience  has  long  since  con- 
vinced me  that  their  consultations  with  their  broth- 
er craftsmen  are  deemed  of  more  worth  in  judging 
of  a  book  than  the  opinions  of  any  member  of  the 
Brotherhood  of  Authors.  I  feel  highly  honored 
by  your  expressed  willingness  to  accept  the  en- 
closed, and  wish  it  were  better  worthy  of  a  place 
among  your  cherished  memorials.  Hoping  often 
to  hear  from  your  pen,  and  soon  to  learn  that  your 
health  is  no  longer  a  subject  of  inquietude,  I  beg 
you  to  believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 
Truly  yours, 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 

It  makes  one  sad  to  think  of  so  much  sweet  and 
cordial  sympathy  wasted  on  a  mere  humbug 
of  an  impostor. 

They  were  talking  some  months  ago  at  the 
club  about  reprinting  some  American  classic 
in  the  well-known  club  style,  and  almost  every 
one  I  spoke  to  on  the  subject  exclaimed  at  once, 
" The  Scarlet  Letter"!  I  suppose  that  it  is  and 
will  continue  for  years  to  be  the  distinctive  Amer- 
ican romance.  My  copy  contains  but  a  single 
autograph.  It  is  a  bill  of  one  Benjamin  Fabias 
against  the  United  States  of  America  for  $49.09, 
for  use  of  warehouse  No.  33,  Derby  Wharf, 
Salem,  and  it  would  have  long  since  gone  the 

39 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

way  of  all  like  vouchers  were  it  not  for  the  magic 
words  at  the  foot  thereof — "Correct:  Nathl. 
Hawthorne,  Surveyor/' 

There  is  nothing  new  to  be  said  about  Haw- 
thorne; lives,  sketches,  memoirs,  have  shown 
him  to  the  world  from  every  possible  point  of 
view,  so  far  as  his  shy  and  introspective  nat- 
ure may  be  shown  at  all ;  and  Mr.  Howells  has 
lately  added  an  "appreciation"  which  brings 
his  personality  still  nearer  to  us.  I  can  only 
let  Hawthorne  speak  through  his  letters.  One 
of  them  was  written  to  Howitt  while  Hawthorne 
was  Consul  in  Liverpool : 

BRUNSWICK  STREET, 
LIVERPOOL,  May  15,  '54. 

DEAR  MR.  HOWITT,— I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  little  note,  and  assure  you  that  no  commenda- 
tion was  ever  sweeter  to  me  than  your  own;  for  I 
have  known  Mrs.  Howitt  and  yourself  a  very  long 
while,  and  have  spent  a  great  many  happy  hours 
over  your  books.  Our  friend  Mr.  Fields  has  just 
sent  me  a  work  of  your  daughter's,  which  I  have 
not  yet  had  time  to  read.  I  hear  praises  from  it 
on  all  hands.  I  shall  not  leave  England  without 
seeing  you,  and  am  very  glad  that  you  wish  to 
see  me.  Tmly  yours^ 

NATHL  HAWTHORNE. 

My  other  letter  has  been  bound  in  my  copy  of 
Henry  James's  Memoir,  and  it  was  written  the 
year  before  Hawthorne's  death: 

4° 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

CONCORD,  Sept.  2&th,  '63. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  note  of  25th  inst.  has 
given  me  great  pleasure,  and  I  should  be  ungrate- 
ful not  to  acknowledge  it.  But  you  attribute  to 
me  a  superiority  which  I  do  not  dream  of  asserting. 
A  reader  who  can  fully  understand  and  appreciate 
a  work  possesses  all  the  faculties  of  the  writer 
who  produces  it — except  a  knack  of  expression, 
by  which  the  latter  is  enabled  to  give  definite  shape 
to  an  idea  or  sentiment  which  he  and  his  appre- 
ciative reader  possess  in  common.  Thus  the  ad- 
vantage on  the  author's  part  is  but  a  slight  one, 
and  the  more  truth  and  wisdom  he  writes,  the 
smaller  is  his  individual  share  in  it. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

NATHL  HAWTHORNE. 

But  with  all  the  greatness  of  his  deftly  woven 
mysteries,  his  master- works  of  fiction,  I  come 
back  with  pleasure  to  the  quaint  and  humorous 
pages  of  that  early  piece  of  drudgery,  the  Peter 
Parley  Universal  History  and  to  the  Life  of 
Franklin  Pierce. 

The  first  -  mentioned  book  we  of  advancing 
years  remember  well:  "a  very  fat,  stumpy- 
looking  book/'  having  in  the  text  "very  small 
wood-cuts,  of  the  most  primitive  sort."  Haw- 
thorne received  one  hundred  dollars  for  his 
share  in  the  work.  James  thinks  that  he  has 
identified  one  phrase  as  that  ot  Hawthorne. 
He  is  speaking  ot  George  IV.  "  Even  when 

1  Hawthorne   by  Henry  James,  p.  37. 
41 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

he  was  quite  a  young  man,  this  King  cared 
as  much  about  dress  as  any  young  coxcomb. 
He  had  a  great  deal  of  taste  in  such  matters, 
and  it  is  a  pity  that  he  was  a  King,  for  he  might 
otherwise  have  made  an  excellent  tailor."  I 
am  sure  that  there  are  scores  of  passages  just 
as  characteristic  and  just  as  worthy  of  credit. 

The  other  book  is  a  memorial  of  stanch  and 
loving  friendship,  a  record  of  the  courage, 
sincerity,  and  simplicity  of  a  man  whose  own 
sense  of  rectitude  and  of  justice  enabled  him  to 
disregard  the  narrow  and  partisan  criticisms 
of  the  smaller  and  meaner  fraction  of  our  Amer- 
ican community. 


IV 


EURENCE  HUTTON  has  a  pleasant  way 
of  accumulating  autographic  riches.  That 
genial  personage  contrives  to  bring  together  a 
varied  assortment  of  astonishing  things,  and 
he  understands  the  art  of  arranging  them  at- 
tractively. The  autographo-maniac  who  is  per- 
mitted to  view  the  treasures  stored  in  the  pretty 
library  in  Peep  o'  Day  may  well  consider  him- 
self a  favorite  of  fortune.  Hutton  used  to  have 
a  singular  fondness  for  death-masks,  which 
are  only  a  sort  of  autograph — face-made  rather 
than  hand-made;  but  he  is  fonder  yet  of  his 
memorabilia,  and  he  shows  them  cheerfully — 
often  parting  with  them  generously  for  the  ben- 
efit of  others.  As  I  think  of  him  affectionate- 
ly, I  take  down  from  the  shelf  a  book  called 
Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage,  which  with 
commendable  foresight  he  arranged  especially 
for  easy  extra-illustration,  and  I  go  back  in 
reminiscence  to  that  fascinating  room  which 
looks  out  over  the  hills  and  plains  of  Princeton. 
I  think  we  may  be  able  to  find  some  autographs 

43 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

scattered  among  the  pages  which  will  be  worth 
meditating  about — but  not,  I  hope,  too  prosily. 

As  I  turn  the  pages  of  Mutton's  entertaining 
volume,  the  first  thing  I  observe  is  that  the 
publishers  have  the  effrontery  to  say,  "  All  rights 
reserved/'  I  wonder  what  they  mean.  They 
certainly  cannot  arrogate  to  themselves  the 
sole  right  to  enjoy  the  book,  or  to  crowd  it  as 
full  of  autographs  and  portraits  as  the  purse 
and  the  patience  of  the  proprietor  will  permit. 
But  I  do  not  believe  that  Harper  and  Brothers 
really  meant  to  be  grasping;  and  since  the 
great  old  house  has  been  reorganized,  every  one 
must  hope  that  it  has  entered  upon  a  new  cen- 
tury of  prosperity,  even  if  the  managers  have 
sadly  disarranged  the  time-honored  boys  with 
the  flowers  and  the  bubbles,  depriving  them  of 
the  scanty  draperies  in  which  they  have  dis- 
ported themselves  on  the  covers  of  the  Magazine 
for  more  than  fifty  years. 

We  encounter  at  the  outset  the  name,  the 
portrait,  and  the  autograph  of  that  eminent,  ro- 
bust, and  bulky-legged  ornament  of  the  boards, 
Edwin  Forrest.  Looking  back  on  what  may  be 
called  the  middle  ages  of  the  American  drama, 
we  find  ourselves  marvelling  how  an  intelligent 
people  could  become  enthusiastic  over  such  an 
actor  as  Forrest,  who  was  noisy  and  pompous, 
and  utterly  without  light  and  shade.  When 

44 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

we  contemplate  American  art,  American  archi- 
tecture, and  the  American  stage  of  the  "forty- 
fifties/'  we  perceive  that  they  were  all  of  about 
the  same  degree  of  merit,  and  we  reflect  that, 
although  we  were  sensitive  and  angry  under 
the  criticism  of  foreigners,  those  unpleasant 
foreigners  were  not  far  wrong.  They  should 
not  have  been  so  severe  upon  us;  it  was  very 
rude  indeed;  but  in  this  opening  year  of  the 
greatest  century  of  mankind  we  must  admit 
that  in  those  mediaeval  days  we  were  in  some 
respects  as  we  were  described  in  the  immortal 
words  of  our  Elijah  Pogram,  "  rough  as  our 
barrs  and  wild  as  our  buffalers."  There  is  no 
self-humiliation  involved  in  such  a  confession, 
for  we  were  a  young  nation,  trying  to  do  in 
three  hundred  years  what  England  required 
more  than  thrice  three  hundred  years  to  ac- 
complish. 

Forrest  was  a  magnate  in  his  generation, 
and  he  occupied  a  large  section  of  the  public 
mind.  Long  time  ago  I  saw  and  heard  him — 
I  certainly  heard  him — in  that  dismal  play 
called  "Virginius,"  and  perhaps  he  came  as 
near  to  being  a  Roman  as  Eugene  Field  came 
to  being  a  Horace.  His  stalwart  personality 
was  somewhat  impressive,  although  not  alto- 
gether fascinating,  and  he  stalked  about,  howled, 
and  made  many  strange,  loud  sounds.  I  did 

45 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

not  find  him  great  or  convincing,  and  he  ex- 
hibited as  much  delicacy  as  a  New  York  cab- 
driver  might  display  in  rendering  the  part  of 
Titania  in  "The  Midsummer-Night's  Dream/' 

But  why  should  I  ruffle  the  peaceful  current 
of  these  meditations  by  abusing  our  distin- 
guished tragedian?  He  filled  a  commanding 
position  in  the  dramatic  world;  he  was  the 
typical  American  actor  of  his  time;  and  he 
had  the  admiration  not  only  of  the  populace, 
but  of  a  great  number  of  the  people  of  culture 
and  refinement.  I  may  explain  it  very  simply. 
He  wrote  this,  which  I  have  embalmed  in  the 
pages  of  my  book: 

DEAR  SIR, — It  is  very  tiresome  to  write  these 
silly  autographs. 

Yours, 

EDWIN  FORREST. 

BOSTON,  November  14,  1855. 

Observe  the  hideous  Philistinism  of  that 
"note."  Is  it  not  enough  to  make  the  writer 
odious  to  all  of  my  tribe?  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  I  have  ample  justification  for  the  severest 
denunciation  of  any  man  who  could  delib- 
erately pen  such  a  self -accusing  statement, 
particularly  as  he  is  dead  and  can  never  re- 
sent it. 

Forrest  grew  to  be  unpopular  in  his  later 
years  on  account  of  his  divorce  suit.  The 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

" Forrest  Case"  was  famous  in  its  day,  and 
Charles  0' Conor  gained  great  glory  by  win- 
ning a  decisive  victory  over  John  Van  Buren. 
"Prince  John/'  of  glorious  memory,  and  the 
best  stump  speaker  I  ever  listened  to,  was  no 
match  for  0' Conor  as  a  lawyer,  and  it  was 
almost  unconstitutional  to  set  him  against  the 
great  Irish  jurist,  for  it  was  a  cruel  and  unusual 
punishment.  Public  sentiment  was  with  the 
woman,  and  some  enthusiasts  gave  0' Conor 
pieces  of  silver,  which  he  condescended  to  ac- 
cept with  his  characteristic  churlish  coldness. 
As  I  look  back  upon  it  —  and  I  have  read 
the  record  carefully  —  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  wrong  was  not  all  on  one  side.  For- 
rest, to  his  credit,  was  dignified  and  consistent 
throughout.  The  conduct  of  madame  was  far 
from  commendable,  and,  if  she  was  innocent, 
it  must  be  owned  that  the  appearances  were 
decidedly  against  her.  She  had  the  advantage 
of  femininity;  all  the  darling,  logical,  and  dis- 
criminating females  (they  were  then  so  called, 
as  Cooper's  pages  will  testify)  were  up  in  arms 
for  her,  and  her  liege  lord  was  not  by  any 
means  amiable  or  conciliatory.  He  won  no 
sympathy;  she  had  it  all.  I  have  some  of  For- 
rest's letters  to  James  T.  Brady,  who  later  in 
the  litigation  acted  as  his  counsel,  and  they  are 
rather  pitiful.  The  old  lion  roars  quite  sadly. 

47 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Here  is  one  of  his  expressions,  after  an  adverse 
decision : 

Let  not  my  words  lead  you  to  suppose  that  the 
recent  judicial  outrage  weighs  upon  my  heart 
and  keeps  me  from  my  rest.  It  is  not  so.  I  feel 
this  wrong  as  a  man  should  feel  it  who  has  con- 
scious right  to  sustain  him,  having  only  pity  and 
contempt  and  a  just  indignation  for  the  time- 
serving and  corrupt  authors  of  this  monstrous 
wrong,  which,  though  aimed  at  me,  must  one 
day  fall  with  crushing  effect  upon  their  own  heads 
and  consign  them  to  the  infamy  of  all  coming 
time.  A  wrong  done  to  the  humblest  citizen  is  a 
wrong  done  to  the  whole  Republic,  was  wisely 
said  by  an  ancient  lawgiver.  By  this  base  act 
the  judges  in  my  case  have  violated  their  oaths 
of  office.  By  this  base  act  they  have  legalized 
and  rewarded  prostitution.  By  it  they  have  taught 
their  wives  and  daughters  that  infamy  has  a  price 
beyond  virtue.  .  .  .  As  God  is  just,  I  shall 
yet  be  righted.  The  American  public  has  long 
since  rendered  a  verdict  adverse  to  the  corrupt 
decision  made  by  these  legal  assassins,  a  verdict 
which  is  already  recorded  in  the  hearts  of  all  right- 
minded  and  honest  people.  ...  A  great  crime  has 
been  committed  by  our  judiciary,  and  the  names  of 
the  criminals  ought  to  be  known — they  should  be 
bruited  abroad  that  men  may  see  that  in  a  free 
country  such  things  cannot  be  done  with  im- 
punity. To  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  offence, 
the  offenders  should  be  scourged,  and  where  the 
offence  is  let  the  great  axe  fall.  And  what  scourg- 
ing is  so  effectual  as  to  keep  the  names  of  these 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ermined  tyrants  a  mockery  and  a  scorn  forever 
in  the  mouths  of  men? 

I  think  I  hear  the  galleries  thunder.  No  one 
but  a  grandiloquent,  self-sufficient,  old-fash- 
ioned actor  could  have  written  such  a  letter.  It 
reminds  me  of  the  familiar  anecdote  of  Martin 
Grover,  that  singularly  gifted,  witty,  and  learned 
judge,  about  the  lawyer  who  had  two  remedies 
when  beaten  at  nisi  prius — one  being  an  appeal, 
and  the  other  a  resort  to  the  Angelica  tavern, 
where  he  could  "cuss  the  court/'  It  was  of 
our  old  friend  0' Conor,  when  he  was  spouting 
concentrated  venom  over  his  defeat  by  the 
highest  court,  in  the  Tweed  case,  that  Grover 
said,  "He  has  taken  his  only  remedy/' 

It  is  pleasant  to  pass  from  sturdy,  passionate, 
belligerent  Forrest  to  that  lovable  man  John 
McCullough,  who  writes : 

If  my  poor  services  can  be  of  any  use  to  you 
for  your  benefit,  I  will  only  be  too  glad  to  show 
you  how  thoroughly  I  appreciate  your  kind  and 
manly  efforts  in  my  behalf  during  my  engagement 
in  Boston. 

And  here  is  Laura  Keene!  How  every  old 
New-Yorker's  pulse  must  beat  at  the  sound  of 
that  name! 

Dion  Boucicault  follows,  and  brings  visions 
of  Sir  Charles  Coldstream,  of  the  ancient  Winter 
4  49 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Garden  days  before  the  war,  and  of  the  later 
"Shaughraun."  Then  we  find  John  Owens, 
whose  Solon  Shingle  and  famous  "bar'l  of 
appel  sass"  convulsed  us  in  the  sixties.  I 
question  whether  the  casual  reader  of  to-day 
recalls  the  memory  of  the  famous  negro  trage- 
dian, Tra  Aldridge.  This  is  a  letter  of  his, 
dignified  in  the  extreme: 

BOSTON,  April  10,  1861. 

MADAM,  —  Having  ascertained  your  address, 
I  hasten  to  express  my  thanks  for  the  flattering 
letter  you  did  me  the  honor  of  sending  me.  It 
is,  at  all  times,  cheering  to  the  heart  of  an  artiste 
[sic]  to  receive  a  friendly  expression  of  approval, 
and  this  gratification  is  all  the  greater  when  he 
is  indebted  to  a  lady  of  refined  mind  and  judge- 
ment for  such  an  act  of  kindness. 

Assuring    you    that  I  shall   ever   regard  your 
welcome  letter  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude, 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

Madam, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

IRA  ALDRIDGE. 

It  is  a  relief  from  this  stateliness  to  run  across 
a  reminder  of  one  who  delighted  us  for  full 
thirty  years — that  sterling  actor,  James  Lewis. 
He  says: 

DEAR  LOUISA,  — There  is  a  five -dollar  bill 
waiting  for  you  in  the  flat  for  the  kids.  Sorry 
we  were  out  yesterday.  Try  again! 

50 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

All  of  the  moderately  old  boys  will  confess  to 
a  sensation  when  they  come  upon  the  dashing 
chirography  of  Lydia  Thompson.  "Dear  Mr. 
Massett,"  she  writes,  to  poor  "Jeems  Pipes/' 
long  since  consigned  to  the  limbo  of  forgotten 
scribblers,  "with  pleasure  I  send  you  three 
seats  for  Friday  night.  ...  I  remember 
your  visit  to  me  in  Park  Lane/'  Of  course 
she  remembered  it,  and  Massett  saw  to  it  that 
she  should  not  forget  it.  Was  there  ever  such 
delicious  burlesquing  as  in  those  days  when 
Lydia  revelled  in  the  excruciating  puns  of 
"Aladdin/'  with  Harry  Beckett  and  Pauline 
Markham,  whose  "  vocal  velvet "  was  eulogized 
so  enthusiastically  by  that  learned  pundit, 
Richard  Grant  White. 

Ristori  writes  in  her  Italian  language,  and 
I  must  perforce  let  it  go  by.  Charles  Fechter's 
letter  is  in  French,  and  he  says :  "  Vous  devez 
penser  des  monstruositGs  de  ce  drdle  qui  d,  nom 
Charles  Fechter. "  And  here  is  a  loyal  line  from 
John  Gilbert:  "To  Lester  Wallack,  Esq., 
with  the  sincere  regards  of  his  old  friend  and 
comrade  in  art,  John  Gilbert."  This  takes 
me  back  to  the  palmy  days  of  Wallack 's,  at 
Thirteenth  Street  and  Broadway,  where,  as 
Miles  McKenna,  the  stalwart  Gilbert  fell  down 
on  receiving  the  daintiest  of  taps  from  Elliot 
Grey  (Lester)  in  that  fascinating  "Rosedale," 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

whose  words  we  almost  knew  by  heart,  and 
whose  entr'acte  music,  by  old  Tom  Baker, 
we  committed  to  memory.  The  good  Gilbert 
was  a  very  amiable  villain;  but  when  Lester 
sang  ''Lord  Bateman"  and  "As  I  was  walkin' 
down  the  Strand/'  we  thought  it  the  perfection 
of  vocal  beauty.  Mario,  Campanini,  Jean  de 
Reszke — none  of  them  could  rival  in  our  esti- 
mation the  cantabile  utterances  of  the  adorable 
Elliot  Grey!  But  I  must  close  the  book  and 
fly  to  some  other  topic ;  for,  if  I  become  further 
involved  in  theatrical  recollections,  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  extricate  myself  successfully. 

If  any  one  takes  the  trouble  to  read  these 
records  of  the  reflections  of  an  ancient  and 
confirmed  autograph  crank,  he  must  remember 
that  it  is  the  privilege  of  age  to  be  garrulous 
and  unmethodical.  After  a  while  one  loses 
the  capacity  to  be  consecutive  and  orderly. 
When  I  was  in  Princeton  I  was  taught  to  be 
precise  and  regular  in  the  matter  of  composi- 
tion, with  my  introduction,  my  proposition,  my 
discussion,  and  my  peroration.  It  is  a  blessed 
privilege  to  be  able  to  throw  the  introduction 
in  the  fire,  dash  the  proposition  out  of  window, 
cast  the  discussion  in  the  waste-basket,  and 
toss  the  peroration  after  it.  Hawthorne's  cler- 
gyman on  a  wild  spree  in  foreign  countries 

52 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

typifies  my  feelings  in  regard  to  conventional 
rules  and  rhetorical  regulations.  I  scorn  to 
be  fettered  by  them.  There  is  not  the  slightest 
consecutiveness  about  these  meditations;  that, 
to  my  mind,  is  their  only  justification.  Where- 
fore I  swerve  suddenly  from  Hutton  and  the 
stage,  and  come  back  to  American  political 
autographiana. 

We  fiends  are  much  given,  of  course,  to  the 
making  of  what  we  call  "sets,"  and  sometimes 
we  are  put  to  great  trouble  in  order  to  obtain 
the  necessary  duplicates.  Washington  is  not 
so  difficult,  for  he  is  only  General,  Old  Congress, 
Constitutional  Convention,  and  President;  and 
while  he  is  expensive,  he  is  not  rare.  Every- 
body saves  the  letters  of  a  persistently  great 
man,  but  the  accidentally  and  suddenly  nota- 
ble character  is  autographically  scarce.  George 
Dewey  and  George  Du  Maurier  are  examples, 
and  their  purchase-value  quickly  rose  from  be- 
low par  to  a  high  premium.  There  has  been 
a  slight  decline  in  the  market,  but  they  are  still 
gilt-edged  after  a  fashion.  When  Mr.  McKinley 
was  an  Ohio  congressman  he  figured  in  the 
list  at  the  common  one-dollar  rate,  but  now, 
after  his  elevation  to  the  Presidency  and  his 
tragic  death,  he  ranks  with  the  rarest,  and  even 
a  type- written  L.  S.1  is  catalogued  in  capitals. 

1  Letter  signed. 
53 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Take,  for  example,  that  eminent  scholar, 
soldier,  and  statesman,  John  Adams  Dix.  He 
turns  up  triumphantly  among  the  Secretaries 
of  the  Treasury,  the  Governors  of  New  York, 
the  Senators  of  the  United  States,  the  foreign 
ministers,  and  the  generals  of  the  Civil  War. 
I  believe  that  Mr.  Depew  once  said  of  him  that 
he  came  to  America  in  the  Mayflower  and  threat- 
ened to  go  over  to  the  Indians  if  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  would  not  elect  him  to  an  office.  His 
fine,  bold  handwriting  is  always  impressive, 
and  one  is  never  in  doubt  about  its  absolute 
genuineness.  The  old  general  was  an  ad- 
mirable specimen  of  American  manhood,  and 
he  served  the  State  honorably  in  almost  every 
possible  capacity.  We  do  not  often  find  his 
equal  in  public  life.  I  well  remember  his  gentle- 
ness and  cordial  kindness  when  he  was  the 
commander  of  the  military  department  of  south- 
ern Virginia,  and  I  was  fortunate  enough  to 
come  within  the  circle  of  his  friendship.  He  was 
then  engaged  in  that  rather  remarkable  occupa- 
tion for  a  "modern  major-general/'  the  transla- 
tion into  English  of  the  noble  hymn, "  Dies  Irae  "  ; 
and  I  think  that  his  translation  is  one  of  the 
best  ever  made.  I  shall  never  forget  that  a  fat 

and  jovial  aide,  a  captain  yclept  "Tom  L /' 

when  asked  what  the  general  was  busy  about, 
answered  that  "  the  general  is  writing  a  Cicero/' 

54 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  general's  son,  Charles  Temple  Dix,  was 
an  artist  of  great  merit,  and  a  soldier  with 
an  honorable  record.  He  was  also  a  genial, 
whole-souled  lad,  and  an  intimate  friend  of 
Charles  F.  Browne,  best  known  to  fame  as  Arte- 
mus  Ward.  Every  one  remembers  how  Louis 
Philippe,  the  pear-headed  Citizen  King  of  the 
French,  was  borne  away  from  Paris  in  a  cab, 
murmuring  plaintively  "  Comme  Charles  X.!" 
The  story  is  told  that  one  night — perhaps  it  was 
one  morning  —  Charles  Dix  and  Artemus  ar- 
rived at  the  hospitable  domicile  of  the  general 
in  West  Twenty-first  Street,  much  comforted 
by  their  glorious  dining,  and  feigning  undue 
exhilaration.  In  response  to  the  ringing  of 
the  bell,  the  general  appeared  in  night-clothes, 
wrathful,  indignant,  and  sleepy,  and  he  said: 
"Browne,  you're  drunk!"  To  him  Artemus, 
with  a  grin,  and  pointing  to  his  companion, 
"  Comme  Charles  Dix  !" 

It  comes  to  my  mind  how  the  general  roared 
with  laughter  over  Ward's  screeds  and  John 
Phoenix's  inimitable  sketches,  for  the  general 
was  not  only  a  scholar,  but  a  man  of  broad 
and  comprehensive  intellectual  qualities. 

The  student  of  American  history  does  not 
need  to  be  told  that  the  great  glory  of  Dix  was 
his  memorable  despatch,  in  the  dawning  days 
of  the  rebellion,  which  made  him  forever  famous 

55 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

— "  If  any  one  attempts  to  haul  down  the  Amer- 
ican flag,  shoot  him  on  the  spot!"  That  ut- 
terance gave  an  electric  shock  to  the  loyal  heart 
of  the  nation.  Artemus,  in  pretended  concern, 
made  the  general  merry  when  he  said,  in  his 
modest,  hesitating  way,  "But — general — sup- 
pose he  hadn't  any  spot!" 

It  was  my  good  luck  to  hear  Artemus  give 
one  of  his  famous  lectures.  As  I  recall  it,  the 
subject  was  "The  Mormons."  Poor  Browne 
was  even  then  suffering  from  the  disease  which 
ultimately  took  him  out  of  the  world  long  be- 
fore his  time.  He  was  ailing  and  his  voice  was 
feeble.  He  wandered  upon  the  platform  in  his 
usual  diffident  and  embarrassed  way,  and  said, 
"Ladies— and — gentlemen — I  am  sorry — but  I 
have  a  very  bad  cold  to-night — and  I  am  afraid 
— that  my  voice — will  not  reach  beyond  the 
reserved  seats."  Then,  as  though  blessed  with 
a  sudden  inspiration,  and  with  the  air  of  one 
who  has  discovered  the  solution  of  a  difficult 
problem,  he  continued,  beaming  and  cheerful, 
"So  we  will  consider  all  the  seats  reserved  this 
evening." 

There  is  no  particular  association  between 
Ward  and  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  but  I  have  just 
taken  out  of  the  wrapper  a  letter  of  Benjamin's 
in  order  to  transfer  it  from  Senators  to  Con- 
federate Cabinet,  and  I  cannot  help  pondering 

56 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

over  it  for  a  moment.  What  an  extraordinary 
career  that  man  had !  He  was  born  in  the  West 
Indies ;  he  was  a  Jew ;  and  he  became  a  school- 
teacher in  Louisiana.  He  rose  to  the  head 
of  the  legal  profession  in  his  adopted  State; 
was  a  Senator  from  1853  to  1861 ;  was  Attorney- 
General,  Secretary  of  War,  and  Secretary  of 
State  under  the  Southern  Confederacy;  he 
was  "the  brains  of  the  Confederacy";  he  fled 
to  England ;  studied  law  at  Lincoln's  Inn ;  was 
admitted  to  practice  in  England  at  fifty-five; 
wrote  one  of  the  best  law-books  of  the  cen- 
tury; and  attained  the  highest  place  in  that 
most  exclusive  of  bodies,  the  bar  of  Great 
Britain. 

I  heard  his  farewell  address  to  the  Senate 
of  the  United  States,  after  the  secession  of 
Louisiana  in  1861.  Who  could  forget  the  beau- 
ty of  his  voice  or  the  grace  of  his  delivery!  If 
ever  a  man  had  a  voice  which  might  be  called 
"silvery,"  it  was  Benjamin;  and  after  the  lapse 
of  forty  years  it  still  rings  in  my  ears  as  though 
I  had  heard  it  only  yesterday.  He  commands 
my  unqualified  admiration,  even  if  he  was,  as 
old  Ben  Wade  sardonically  remarked,  "a  He- 
brew with  Egyptian  principles." 

Notwithstanding  my  vivid  recollection  of 
Benjamin's  voice,  I  find  in  Mr.  Serjeant  Rob- 
inson's Reminiscences  of  the  Bench  and  Bar 

57 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  remark  that  it  "had  about  it  what  we  are 
in  the  habit  of  deeming  the  very  worst  of  Amer- 
ican twangs."  I  venture  to  say  that  this  is 
an  instance  of  British  self-complacency.  The 
liquid  Southern  tone  of  Benjamin  was  abso- 
lutely twangless,  and  it  was,  as  compared  with 
the  hollow,  rough,  and  coarse  bow-wow  of  the 
Englishman,  like  the  song  of  the  nightingale 
beside  the  caw  of  the  crow.  The  foolish  asser- 
tion of  the  learned  Serjeant,  who  I  am  glad  to 
say  records  himself  as  one  of  the  last  of  an 
ancient  race — a  dinosaurus  lingering  in  the 
haunts  of  civilization  —  is  based  upon  a  syl- 
logism characteristic  of  his  nation :  "  All  voices 
which  are  not  English  are  twangy  :  Ben- 
jamin's was  not  English ;  therefore  it  was 
twangy." 

But  Benjamin  grew  to  be  very  English. 
Eloquent  to  the  highest  degree,  he  abjured 
eloquence.  My  friend,  the  ex- judge,  told  me 
the  other  day  that  in  conversation  with  Lord 
Russell  he  once  spoke  of  his  old  acquaintance, 
Benjamin,  as  eloquent.  "We  do  not  think 
him  eloquent,"  said  Lord  Russell.  The  fact 
was  that  he  suppressed  his  glowing  warmth 
of  oratory  because  it  was  unsuited  to  the  clime; 
and  for  a  like  reason  he  said  "Me  lud,"  and 
occasionally  dropped  his  h's.  But  Benjamin 
would  have  adapted  himself  to  the  moon  if  he 

58 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

could  have  migrated  to  that  satellite,  and  had 
he  found  the  inhabitants  limiting  themselves 
on  principle  to  a  single  eye,  he  would  have 
cheerfully  put  out  one  of  his  own  in  order  to 
conform  to  the  customs  of  the  country. 


V 

THE  editor  of  a  magazine,  for  whom  I  have 
the  highest  regard,  saw  fit,  some  time 
ago,  to  criticise  gently  an  innocent  remark 
of  mine  about  the  use  of  autographs  in  extra- 
illustration.  He  must  remember  that  these 
desultory  jottings,  with  all  their  sins  and  im- 
perfections, are  only  the  staggerings  of  the 
mind  of  an  ancient  collector,  the  maunderings 
of  an  obsolete  person.  I  did  not  mean  to  enter 
upon  tne  record  an  objection  against  the  ar- 
rangement of  a  "set"  of  autographs,  incident- 
ally accompanied  by  a  few  printed  pages, 
where  a  rivulet  of  text  may  meander  through 
a  meadow  of  autographs.  But  in  most  extra- 
illustrated  books  the  text  and  the  plates  seem 
to  assume  the  leadership;  they  elbow  themselves 
rudely  to  the  front,  with  an  air  of  odious  self- 
importance;  they  take  the  centre  of  the  stage 
and  stand  in  the  full  glare  of  the  lime-light. 
As  a  faithful,  although  a  superannuated  devo- 
tee at  the  shrine  of  Autographina,  I  complain 
whenever  my  divinity  is  treated  with  disrespect. 

60 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  am  not  the  first  one  to  allow  my  reason  to 
surrender  to  my  affections,  and  with  all  their 
faults  I  love  those  "  Granger  "  books  still.  One 
will  say  to  himself,  in  meditation,  "  Away  with 
them!  let  them  be  anathema  maranatha  !"  the 
precise  import  of  which  curse  I  am  cloudy  about, 
but  I  suppose  that  it  has  substantially  the  same 
effect  as  that  which  is  produced  by  the  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons  when  he  "names 
names/'  Yet  within  two  days,  this  irate  ene- 
my of  Grangerization  may  be  found  coquetting 
with  his  favorite  bookseller  about  the  materials 
for  a  new  example  of  illustrated  enormity,  and, 
like  another  Donna  Julia,  whispering  he  will 
ne'er  consent,  consents  flagrantly.  Half  the 
pleasure  lies  in  being  tempted  and  in  yielding 
to  the  temptation  with  the  sweet  consciousness 
of  guilt  as  a  consolation. 

On  reflection,  I  believe  that  I  have  been  mis- 
taken in  spending  so  much  time  and  so  con- 
siderable a  portion  of  my  slender  means  in 
gathering  Signers,  Old  Congressmen,  Presi- 
dents, Cabinet,  Governors,  and  others  of  that 
ilk,  for  the  literary  field  is  by  far  the  most  fas- 
cinating. Men  meet  there  on  a  common  ground ; 
the  political  is  ephemeral,  while  the  literary  is 
eternal.  A  certain  man  once  made  himself  a 
driveller  and  a  show  by  paying  an  enormous 

61 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

price  for  a  "Gabriel  Jones,  M.  0.  C,  Va.,"  so 
that  all  catalogues  issued  since  that  event, 
and  boasting  a  specimen  of  Gabriel,  remind  us 
that  "  specimen  fetched  [sic]  $80  at  a  Philadel- 
phia auction  sale/'  In  confidence,  it  was  $82, 
as  I  happen  to  know.  The  reference  in  the 
catalogues  is  the  sort  of  sly  suggestion  which 
touches  the  sensibilities  of  the  lamb  who 
ventures  into  the  Wall  Street  of  Autographia. 
Now  my  friend  might  have  had  a  letter  of  Words- 
worth for  less  than  one-tenth  of  the  money  squan- 
dered on  Jones — a  thing  of  beauty  compared 
with  the  costly  scrawl  of  the  Virginia  congress- 
man, who  has  no  real  value  except  as  one  of  a 
series.  The  name  of  Jones  twinkles  like  a  pale 
candle-flame  beside  the  light  of  Wordsworth. 

Here  is  the  letter  addressed  by  the  poet  to 
his  fellow -poet  Samuel  Rogers,  who  dealt  in 
figures  of  finance  as  well  as  of  speech,  and  who 
wrote  upon  it,  "Not  to  be  printed,  S.  R." 

You,  my  dear  Rogers,  are  placed  by  fortune 
above  the  necessity  of  considering  your  books 
with  reference  to  pecuniary  profit  now  or  here- 
after. It  is  not  so  with  most  of  your  literary  and 
personal  friends,  myself  among  the  number,  and 
therefore  I  take  leave  to  mention  that  the  2nd. 
reading  of  Sergeant  Talfourd's  copyright  bill 
stands  for  Wednesday,  the  nth  of  April.  Let  me 
urge  you  to  give  it  your  support  among  your 
Parliamentary  friends  of  all  parties,  as  it  is  not 

62 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

a  party  measure.  Brooke's  is  at  hand,  and  you 
are  every  day  and  every  hour  seeing  some  in- 
fluential person.  Need  I  say  more?  for  you  have 
probably  heard  that  the  rapacity  of  the  book- 
sellers is  putting  them,  under  pretence  of  public 
good,  upon  what  threatens  to  be  a  very  strong 
opposition.  They  will  be  backed  by  the  Doctrin- 
aires (called  so,  I  suppose,  in  the  spirit  of  the  trite 
phrase  lucus  a  non  lucendo).  As  the  attendance 
is  usually  very  thin  upon  a  Wednesday,  the  Ser- 
geant tells  me  that  it  is  desirable  that  the  favourers 
of  his  motion  should  be  in  the  house  to  prevent 
its  being  voted  out. 

What  said  Gabriel  Jones? 

AUGUSTA  COUNTY. 

DR.  SIR, — My  son  may  probably  stay  in  camp 
longer  than  his  present  stock  of  cash  may  hold 
out.  I  therefore  have  taken  the  freedom  of  draw- 
ing on  you  for  yr.  amount  of  the  enclosed  account : 
he  has  yr.  original  order  of  acceptance;  and  his 
receipt  will  be  sufficient.  I  have  nothing  to  add 
but  to  wish  you  an  agreeable  and  successful  cam- 
paine.  Yr.  most  obt.  servant, 

April  2Sf '77.  GABRIEL  JONES. 

Both  of  these  letters  deal  with  the  important 
money  question,  but  no  one  can  dispute  the 
fact  that  the  author  is  more  interesting  than 
the  legislator.  Few  enlightened  citizens  of 
this  or  any  land  can  really  care  much  about 
Jones.  He  belongs,  with  Simon  Boerum,  to 
the  category  of  expensive  luxuries.  The  lamb 

63 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

was  shorn  because  some  other  lamb  had  a 
vacancy  in  his  "set/'  and  the  first  lamb  was 
playing  the  game  without  a  limit. 

These  considerations  naturally  lead  us  to  the 
inquiry,  as  an  eminent  contemporary  states- 
man might  say,  whether  or  not  the  literary 
magnate  really  feels  sad  and  weary  when  some 
one  begs  him  for  his  autograph.  He  is  wont 
to  lament  much  about  the  hardship  of  it,  and 
to  express  himself  after  the  manner  of  Edwin 
Forrest,  reference  to  which  has  been  hereinbe- 
fore made,  to  borrow  the  jargon  of  the  attorney. 
While  it  is  true  that  the  serious  and  genuine 
collector  does  not  write  for  an  autograph  to  any 
one  with  whom  he  is  not  personally  acquainted, 
yet  I  am  not  sure  that  the  great  man  is  dis- 
pleased with  the  implied  compliment,  however 
loudly  he  may  complain  of  the  trespass.  It  was 
a  profound  remark  of  Josh  Billings — or  perhaps 
of  that  ancient  and  now  almost  forgotten  humor- 
ist Jack  Downing — that  "there  is  a  great  deal 
of  human  natur'  in  mankind  in  gin'ral."  The 
distinguished  author  is  not  altogether  outside 
of  the  pale  of  ordinary  humanity.  Still,  auto- 
graph letters  written  to  order  are,  in  my  humble 
judgment,  seldom  worth  having. 

There  is,  to  my  knowledge,  one  exception 
to  the  rule,  and  that  is  a  letter  of  the  deft  mas- 
ter of  style,  the  accomplished  wizard  of  words, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  It  has  been  printed 
before,  in  an  article  written/  as  I  recall  it,  for 
the  Cosmopolitan,  but  it  will  bear  repetition: 

VAILIMA,  UPOLU,  SAMOA. 

You  have  sent  me  a  slip  to  write  on :  you  have 
sent  me  an  addressed  envelope:  you  have  sent  it 
me  stamped:  many  have  done  as  much  before. 
You  have  spelled  my  name  right,  and  some  have 
done  that.  In  one  point  you  stand  alone:  you 
have  sent  me  the  stamps  for  my  post-office,  not 
the  stamps  for  yours.  What  is  asked  with  so 
much  consideration,  I  take  a  pleasure  to  grant. 
Here,  since  you  value  it,  and  have  been  at  the 
pains  to  earn  it  by  such  unusual  attentions — here 
is  the  signature  of 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON. 

For  the  one  civil  autograph  collector,  Charles 
R . 

I  will  pass  by  without  comment  the  base 

insinuation  that  Mr.  R is  the  only  civil 

autograph  collector  in  the  universe.  I  am  sure 
I  never  asked  Stevenson  for  his  autograph,  but 
if  I  had  broken  my  rule  and  done  so,  I  think 
I  should  have  known  how  to  be  civil  about  it. 
I  disapprove  of  the  begging  habit.  It  throws  a 
shadow  of  the  ridiculous  over  a  very  serious 
and  dignified  occupation. 

Perhaps    my    Lincoln    autograph    may    be 
another  exception.     It  is  dated  at  the  Executive 
Mansion,  Washington,  December  II,  1862: 
*  65 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

R.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE,— Below  is  my  auto- 
graph for  your  good  lady  as  you  request. 

Yours  truly, 

A.  LINCOLN. 

Ben :  Perley  Poore  —  he  of  the  colon  —  says 
in  his  chapter  in  Allen  Thorndike  Rice's  Remi- 
niscences of  Abraham  Lincoln : 

When  Dr.  R.  Shelton  Mackenzie,  of  Philadel- 
phia, called  at  the  White  House  and  asked  for  the 
President's  autograph,  Mr.  Lincoln  said : 

"  Will  you  have  it  on  a  card  or  on  a  sheet  of 
paper?" 

"  If  the  choice  rested  with  myself/'  said  the 
jovial  doctor,  "I  should  prefer  it  at  the  foot  of  a 
commission." 

Mr.  Lincoln  smiled  and  shook  his  head  as  if 
he  did  not  see  it  in  that  light,  but  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  few  pleasant  lines,  adding  his  legible  signa- 
ture, "A.  Lincoln." 

It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Lincoln  did  not 
laugh  at  the  doctor's  alleged  joke,  whose  vener- 
able age  certainly  entitled  it  to  dignified  respect ; 
he  merely  smiled.  It  will  also  be  noted  that 
the  doctor's  desire  for  the  President's  auto- 
graph was  basely,  and  no  doubt  falsely,  im- 
puted to  "his  good  lady."  The  device  was  a 
shallow  one,  but  it  is  one  of  the  stock  devices 
of  the  autograph  hunter,  like  the  innocent  letter 
which  seeks  to  know  in  what  year  the  novelist 
published  that  popular  story,  or  where  a  letter 

66 


U  4 


^fi^fc^ 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  Mr.    Blank,   the  novelist's  intimate  friend, 
will  be  likely  to  reach  him. 

I  will  wander  back  to  the  literary  alcove. 
Surely  no  one  can  fail  to  feel  closer  to  Thackeray 
when  he  has  held  in  his  hand  and  read  such 
a  pleasant  little  note  as  this: 

MY  DEAR  AlNSWORTH,— • Will  you  give  me 
your  name  at  the  G.  for  Tuesday  at  6,  and  come 
and  dine  with  me  there?  I  want  to  ask  3  or  4  of 
the  littery  purfession.  Yrg  alwayj^ 

W.  M.  T. 

It  was  written  in  1844  from  88  St.  James 
Street,  where  he  wrote  Barry  Lyndon.  Mr. 
Rideing  says  (1885)  that  the  building  has  been 
demolished,1  but  Mr.  Crowe  (1897)  asserts  that 
it  still  "stands  secure  enough/'  After  his 
usual  playful  fashion,  Thackeray  has  written 
another  notelet  on  the  flap  of  the  envelope : 

MY  DEAR  AlNSWORTH,— I  would  have  come 
with  the  greatest  pleasure  but  Gwilt  has  engaged 
me.  How  are  you  and  the  ladies  and  the  young 
daughter?  I  will  come  out  one  very  early  day  to 
shake  you  by  the  hand.  y 

W.  M.  T. 

The  most  hardened  of  scoffers  must  confess 
that  there  is  some  justification  for  the  pursuit, 

1  Thackeray's  London,  p.  76.     2  Haunts  and  Homes,  p.  45. 

67 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

when  one  may  possess  a  letter  from  Laurence 
Sterne  to  David  Garrick.  In  The  Historical 
Gallery,  by  Robert  Huish,  published  in  1830, 
it  is  said:  "In  1762  he  [Sterne]  resolved  him- 
self to  visit  France,  and  it  was  this  project  which 
gave  rise  to  the  Sentimental  Journey.  His  fi- 
nances, however,  at  this  juncture  were  so  low 
that  previously  to  his  departure  he  wrote  to 
Mr.  Garrick  to  advance  him  £20." 

The  original  letter,  which  came  from  Upcott, 
and  is,  therefore,  undeniably  genuine,  lies  before 
me.  Sterne  says: 

DEAR  GARRICK, — Upon  reviewing  my  finances 
this  morning,  with  some  unforseen  expenses,  I 
find  I  should  set  out  with  £20  less  than  a  prudent 
man  ought.  Will  you  lend  me  twenty  pounds? 

Yrs., 

L.  STERNE. 

The  spelling  is  Sterne's,  not  mine. 

We  may  assume  that  this  rather  graceful 
application  was  successful,  for  Sterne  went 
to  France  and  the  Sentimental  Journey  was 
written. 

Are  there  many  people  in  these  days  who 
read  the  book?  I  have  my  doubts  on  the  sub- 
ject. It  is  easy  for  the  smatterer  to  refer  light- 
ly to  Tristam  Shandy  and  to  the  Journey,  but 
I  have  noticed  that  he  remembers  little  of  them 
except  the  most  familiar  quotations.  Like 

68 


K)J 


IN 


rv 


I 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Bos  well's  Johnson,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  Don 
Quixote,  they  belong  to  the  immortal  library 
which  all  men  are  believed  to  know  by  heart, 
but  which  no  one  ever  reads  entirely  through. 
I  am  confident,  however,  that  I  might  contrive 
to  plough  through  Boswell  if  it  were  not  for 
the  notes  of  his  editors.  I  abhor  notes.  They 
distract  my  attention  and  confuse  my  mind. 
Blessed  is  the  editor  who  wisely  refrains  from 
scattering  them  along  the  pages  and  consider- 
ately masses  them  in  an  appendix. 

Those  of  us  who  retain  a  lively  recollection 
of  the  late  nineteenth  century  will  remember 
the  plain  little  woman  who  puzzled  the  critics, 
and  who  called  herself  "Currer  Bell/'  Even 
to-day  we  read  Jane  Eyre,  but  I  do  not  think 
that  the  other  stories  are  often  taken  down 
from  the  shelves.  Every  one  knows  how,  in 
early  girlhood,  Charlotte  Bronte  was  accus- 
tomed to  write  elaborate  romances,  chiefly 
about  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  or  some  member 
of  his  family,  real  or  imaginary,  for  Charlotte 
blindly  adored  the  hero  of  Waterloo.  Some  of 
these  sketches  have  been  preserved,  and  here 
is  one  entitled  Lord  Douro.  It  bears  the  date 
of  July  21,  1837,  and  is  signed  by  "C.  Bronte/' 
It  has  been  lovingly  protected  by  a  Zaehns- 
dorf  levant  binding,  and  it  consists  of  some 
twenty-eight  pages,  note  size,  all  in  that  tiny, 

69 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

microscopic  hand,  compared  to  which  Thacke- 
ray's minute  chirography  and  De  Quincey's 
small  characters  are  Brobdingnagian.  I  defy 
any  one  to  decipher  it  without  the  aid  of  a 
magnifying-glass. 

The  little  romance,  it  must  be  acknowledged, 
is  rather  dreary,  and  does  not  seem  to  be  of 
any  great  interest  as  a  composition,  even  when 
seen  through  a  magnifying-glass.  It  betrays 
no  bright  promise  of  future  fame.  A  firm  of 
New  York  publishers  once  asked  permission  to 
print  it,  but  out  of  consideration  for  the  Brontes 
the  owner  decided  that  it  had  better  remain  in 
the  seclusion  of  his  library. 

An  extract  will  suffice: 

Night  after  night  closed  around  the  villa  grounds, 
warm,  pure  and  balmy,  with  the  harvest  moon 
beaming  upon  its  Grecian  front,  and  looking 
through  its  casements  into  some  rich  chambers, 
where  the  Marchioness  sat  leaning  upon  her  Lord's 
breast,  and  forgetting  in  his  arms  every  warning 
of  death,  every  thought  of  sadness  she  had  ever 
known.  If,  for  a  moment,  some  symptom  of  her 
disease  appeared  shadows1  the  first  sound  of  Douro's 
voice,  the  first  glance  of  his  dark  eye  scattered 
them  utterly — he  was  to  her,  I  say,  as  kind,  as 
gentle,  as  impassioned  as  imagination  can  con- 
ceive. Those  six  weeks  were  to  Marian  a  heavenly 
dream.  The  sound  of  the  Trumpet  broke  it.  War 

1  This  portion  is  quite  illegible. 
70 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

came  driven  over  Africa  in  wild  gales  of  rain  and 
sleet.  The  sunshine  of  summer  and  the  torch  of 
peace  were  quenched  together.  Douro  joined  his 
regiment,  and  we  all  know  what  succeeded.  We 
all  remember  the  rains  and  the  mutinies,  the  de- 
feats and  the  victories  of  the  Augrian  (?)  campaign. 
Scarcely  was  winter  over,  scarcely  was  the  noise 
of  battle  hushed,  when  the  bell  from  St.  Michael's, 
tolling  long  and  slow,  revealed  the  fate  of 

FLORENCE  MARIAN  WELLESLEY,  MARCHION- 
ESS OF  DOURO. 

Here  endeth  the  story,  but  there  is  a  six- 
stanza  poem  appended.  Miss  Bronte,  like  Silas 
Wegg,  drops  into  poetry  at  intervals  through- 
out the  whole  screed.  There  are  some  words 
which  defy  the  power  of  the  glass,  and  I  have 
given  up  trying  to  guess  what  they  are.  I 
suppose  that  the  poor  girl  was  compelled  to  be 
economical  about  so  trifling  a  matter  as  paper, 
and  that  she  cramped  her  hand-writing  in  order 
to  compress  as  much  upon  a  page  as  it  could 
contain.  It  is  pitiful  to  think  of  genius  restricted 
by  such  ignoble  fetters. 

By  the  side  of  Lord  Douro  lies  a  small  vol- 
ume of  Charlotte  Bronte's  manuscript  poems, 
signed  at  the  end,  "C.  Bronte  Jan'y  19,  1836." 
There  are  twenty  pages  in  all,  four  in  pencil. 
None  of  them  have  been  published,  to  the  best 
of  my  belief.  They  are  rather  an  improve- 
ment on  the  history  of  the  unfortunate  lady 

7i 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

with  the  imposing  title.     One  of  them  is  called 
"  The  Wounded  Stag  ": 

Passing  amid  the  deepest  shade 
Of  the  wood's  sombre  heart, 

Last  night  I  saw  a  wounded  deer 
Laid  lonely  and  apart. 

Pain  trembles  in  his  weary  limbs 

Pain  fills  his  patient  eye, 
Pain-crushed  amid  the  shadowy  fern 

His  branchy  crown  did  lie. 

Another  poem  contains  this  stanza,  which, 
after  infinite  pains,  I  have  deciphered: 

Glorious  hills  from  the  golden  frames 

Bend  with  a  dreamlike  smile 
Parting  with  snowy  hand  the  gleams 

Of  their  lustrous  hair  the  while. 
The  teeth  of  pearl,  through  the  lips  of 
rose 

Archly  but  stilly  shew 
Nothing  that  coral  mouth  can  close 

Which  has  smiled  through  centuries 

so. 
Glimpses  of  English  scenery 

Northumbrian  hills  and  halls 
And  glorious  plains  of  Italy 

Shine  on  the  magic  walls. 

But  the  task  of  translating  the  hieroglyphics 
is  too  great  for  ordinary  eyes,  and  I  give  up  the 

72 


M 


Well  «t  ley 


a,™ 


*  \  *.       v-«  <-         4  ,  »^.         •»  -,  4       *n 

<•»«•.•   *   — **  *     ^.* 


..,-    . 

* 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

labor.  Perhaps  some  Champollion  of  literature 
may  be  willing  to  undertake  the  elucidation 
of  these  mysteries. 

It  is  a  matter  of  regret  to  me  that  I  have  never 
had  the  opportunity  to  study  the  personal  hab- 
its and  customs  of  the  poet  or  the  author.  I 
know  only  two  poets,  both  of  them  charming 
men,  and  yet  I  cannot  say  that  I  know  much 
about  their  methods  of  work.  One  of  them  is 
always  most  cheerful  and  entertaining  at  dinner, 
but  he  is  apt  to  be  morose  at  breakfast.  This 
suggests  a  field  of  investigation.  The  subject 
has  not  been  very  carefully  considered.  We 
read  a  great  deal  of  the  behavior  of  our  lit- 
erary heroes  at  the  dinner-table,  but  I  do  not 
recall  any  authentic  accounts  of  their  conduct 
at  the  early  morning  meal,  except,  perhaps, 
the  chronicles  of  a  certain  Poet  at  the  Break- 
fast Table,  and  of  an  Autocrat  and  a  Profess- 
or, all  of  which  I  believe  to  be  entirely  ficti- 
tious. By -the -way,  I  see  that  a  "First  Edi- 
tion" of  the  Autocrat  sold  not  long  ago  for 
the  sum  of  $35,  the  copy  being  embellished  with 
a  verse  or  stanza  of  the  "Chambered  Nauti- 
lus" in  the  author's  handwriting.  When  I 
think  how  often  Dr.  Holmes  wrote  out  copies 
of  verses  from  that  poem  and  from  "  Old  Iron- 
sides/' I  can  fancy  that  the  dear  old  gentleman 

73 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

must  have  become  as  tired  of  them  as  Gen- 
eral Sherman  was  of  "Marching  through 
Georgia/' 

To  my  mind,  that  autograph  verse  was 
worth  considerably  more  than  the  "First  Edi- 
tion." 

First  editions  are  very  much  honored  and 
esteemed,  I  must  admit.  I  do  not  intend  to 
plunge  into  any  debate  over  them  or  to  pro- 
voke any  controversy  concerning  them.  If  any 
one  wishes  to  know,  why  first  editions?  let  him 
read  Arnold's  First  Report  of  a  Book  Collec- 
tor, and  then  examine  the  handsome  catalogue 
of  Mr.  Arnold's  sale  in  February,  1901,  with 
prices  inserted.  But  why  first  editions  of 
Kipling  and  of  Stevenson?  I  was  mightily 
amused  recently  to  learn  that  the  deluded 
beings  who  paid  appalling  prices  for  early 
India  and  Davos  Platz  items  were  finding 
themselves  fearfully  long  of  the  market  and 
liable  to  be  sold  out  under  the  rule.  A  de- 
cline in  School-boy  Lyrics  from  £135  to  655. 
exhibits  a  fall  altogether  more  disastrous  than 
any  autograph  calamity.  I  have  a  bookish 
friend  who  actually  prides  himself  on  the  pos- 
session of  a  complete  set  of  first  editions  of 
Anthony  Trollope!  It  cost  him  a  good  deal 
of  time  and  toil,  and  I  know  not  how  many 
golden  shekels.  But  why  not  E.  P.  Roe,  or 

74 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

T.  S.  Arthur,  or  William  Gilmore  Simms? 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  accumulating  first 
editions  of  the  Congressional  Record. 

This  person  has  laughed  at  my  autographs. 


VI 

I  WAS  mistaken  when  I  said  that  I  had 
known  only  two  poets  ;  I  recall  that 
there  are  four  who  have  had  the  privilege  of 
my  acquaintance.  One  of  them  I  well  remember 
as  a  freshman  in  college  when  I  was  strutting 
about  as  a  supercilious  senior.  Now  he  is  a 
man  of  note,  and  I  am  pleased  if  I  am  allowed 
to  sit  near  him  at  dinner  and  to  listen  to  his 
graceful  post-prandial  eloquence.  I  pride  my- 
self on  the  discovery  that  we  had  a  common 
ancestor,  who  met  a  soldier's  death  on  the 
field  of  Monmouth.  Until  I  contrived  to  get 
upon  the  trail  of  this  glorious  great-grandfather, 
I  had  never  heard  of  any  of  my  forebears  as 
Revolutionary  patriots,  and  I  had  labored  under 
the  painful  conviction  that  they  were  all  un- 
mitigated Tories.  This  brave  captain  of  Som- 
erset County  militia  has  redeemed  the  family 
reputation,  and  I  should  dearly  love  to  have 
his  autograph.  But  I  am  getting  too  far  away 
from  my  poet,  who  will,  perhaps,  excuse  me 
for  giving  forth  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  his 
which  I  greatly  prize : 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

When  a  poem,  or  a  story,  or  a  bit  of  an  essay 
comes  to  a  man,  he  does  not  wait  for  a  pen,  a  fair 
sheet  of  paper,  and  some  black  ink,  before  he  be- 
gins to  write.  No,  he  uses  an  old  lead-pencil  and 
any  kind  of  paper  that  comes  to  hand,  even  the 
back  of  an  envelope,  and  so  he  sets  his  thoughts 
down  in  a  script  that  makes  the  printer  profane. 
The  [blank]  for  example.  I  had  despaired  of 
writing  anything  but  a  perfunctory  performance, 
and  had  firmly  resolved  not  to  do  that.  .  .  . 
Suddenly  the  idea  of  the  poem  visited  me  on  a 
lonely  journey,  and  the  outline  of  it  was  sketched 
in  a  ragged  little  memorandum  book.  It  was 
worked  out  in  a  solitary  cave  on  the  lie  Moligne, 
amid  the  roaring  waters  of  the  Grande  Decharge. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  tell  the  name  of  the 
noble  poem  whose  genesis  is  thus  described, 
but  I  may  not  break  the  seal  of  confidence. 

The  other  poet  won  a  certain  popularity 
during  the  war  of  the  Rebellion,  and  his  auto- 
graph is  in  the  portfolio  of  "  American  Military  " 
— Charles  G.  Halpine,  more  famous  as  "Miles 
O'Reilly/'  There  cannot  be  many  now  who 
have  any  distinct  recollection  of  him.  He 
belongs  to  an  evanescent,  transitory  order. 
Reputations  like  his  grow  rapidly  and  disappear 
as  quickly.  He  was  an  accomplished  journalist, 
and  I  used  to  see  him,  when  he  was  a  colonel 
on  the  staff  of  the  general  commanding  the 
Department  of  the  East,  scribbling  fast  and  fu- 

77 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

riously  at  his  desk,  composing  some  brilliant 
letter  from  a  foreign  land,  which  he  would 
transmit  directly  from  Bleecker  Street  to  his 
newspaper  in  Park  Row.  I  recall  only  one 
verse  of  his,  which  is  perhaps  not  very  remark- 
able for  wit,  melody,  or  poetic  quality,  but  it  af- 
fords a  singular  instance  of  the  tenacity  with 
which  the  human  mind  will  hold  fast  to  a  trifle 
for  wellnigh  forty  years,  while  letting  go  of  so 
many  things  of  real  value : 

Long  life  to  ye,  Mr.   Lincoln, 
May  ye  live  both  free  and  aisy, 

And  when  ye  die,  with  the  top  of  each  toe 
Turned  up  to  the  roots  of  a  daisy, 

May  this  be  your  epitaph,  nately  writ, 
"Though  thraitors  abused  him  vilely, 
He  was  honest,  and  kindly,  and  loved 

a  joke, — 
And  he  pardoned  Miles  O'Reilly." 

From  Halpine's  Irishman  the  mind  strays 
very  naturally  to  a  Scotchman.  One  of  my 
best  friends  has  a  pet  aversion:  he  can  never 
bring  himself  to  the  point  of  liking  Robert 
Burns.  Perhaps  the  French  strain  in  his  blood 
makes  him  unappreciative  of  Scottish  poetry 
or  Scottish  thoughts.  He  will  not  admit  that 
Burns  was  an  interesting  character,  although 
I  argue  with  him  that  when  so  many  love  and 
admire  the  works  of  Burns  there  must  be  some 

78 


? 

awssH 

<*-> 


1 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

quality  in  them  which  deserves  admiration. 
But  he  persists  in  saying,  as  Baron  Martin  is 
reported  to  have  said  of  Shakespeare,  "From 
what  I  have  seen  of  him,  I  think  him  a  very 
overrated  mon."  When,  however,  I  show  him 
my  Burns  letter,  he  is  obliged  to  confess  that 
he  wrote  a  good  hand!  It  is  a  letter  to  Lady 
Henrietta  Don : 

MADAM, — I  have  here  sent  you  a  parcel  of  my 
epistolary  performances;  happy  at  having  it, 
in  the  smallest  degree,  in  my  power  to  show  that 
gratitude,  which,  while  life's  warm  spirit  beats 
within  my  breast,  shall  ever  glow  to  the  family 
of  Glencairn.  I  might  have  altered  or  omitted 
some  things  in  these  letters;  perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  done  so;  but  I  wish  to  show  you  the  Bard 
and  his  style  in  their  native  colors. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be  with  the  most  heart  - 
warm,  grateful  sincerity,  Madam,  your  much 
indebted  and  very  humble  servant. 

ROBERT  BURNS. 

EDINB.,  26th  March,  1787. 

There  is  something  about  the  elaborate  sub- 
scription which  is  deliciously  suggestive  of 
our  old  friend,  Mr.  Wilkins  Micawber. 

One  cannot  help  feeling  a  great  deal  of  in- 
terest in  whatever  relates  to  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge,  although  his  philosophy  is  prac- 
tically forgotten,  and  his  poetry,  if  we  except 

79 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  Ancient  Mariner  and  Christabel,  has  gone 
into  the  store-houses  of  antiquity.  But  it  was 
good  poetry,  and  I  have  always  had  a  convic- 
tion, which  I  have  carefully  concealed  in  the 
recesses  of  my  inner  being,  that  he  was  far 
greater  than  some  of  his  contemporaries  whose 
fame  has  endured  more  permanently.  Probably 
the  reader  of  to-day  regards  all  these  last- 
century  litter ati  as  very  old-fashioned  indeed, 
and  has  relegated  them  to  the  obscurity  of  the 
back  shelves.  It  must,  however,  be  permitted 
to  the  aged  to  hint  mildly  at  the  possibility  that 
the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  far 
more  productive  of  genuine  poetry  than  the  lat- 
ter half.  Here  is  a  Coleridge  manuscript  with 
its  quaint  title : 

SONG,  OR  RATHER  A  COMMENCEMENT 

OF   A    SONG.1 

A  sunny  shaft  did  I  behold — 

From  sky  to  earth  it  slanted, 
And  pois'd  therein  a  Bird  so  bold — 

Sweet  Bird!  thou  wert  enchanted! 
He  rose,  he  sunk,  he  rustled,  he  troll'd 

Within  that  shaft  of  sunny  mist, 
His  eyes  of  fire,  his  beak  of  gold. 

All  else  of  Amethyst! 

1  This  appears  in  his  pub-  thus/'  instead  of  "  then/'  in 
lished  works  as  "  Song,  by  the  ninth  line,  and  "  Far,  far 
Glycine/'  with  some  slight  away,"  instead  of  "  Away  I 
changes,  e.  g.,  "twinkled  Away  \"  in  the  sixteenth  line. 

80 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

And  then  he  sang:     Adieu!     Adieu  1 
Love's  dreams  prove  seldom  true. 

The  Blossoms— they 

Make  no  delay, 

The  sparkling  dew-drops  will  not  stay! 

Sweet  month  of  May, 

We  must  away, 

Away !     Away ! 

To-day!     To-day! 

This  is  not  at  all  lofty  or  convincing,  and  one 
must  own  that  it  sounds  very  like  the  transla- 
tions of  the  opera  librettos.  There  is  not  much 
worse  nonsense  than  these  translations,  and 
Coleridge,  who  probably  never  read  one,  has 
fallen  into  the  style  without  any  malice  afore- 
thought. 

This  little  thing  of  his  son  Hartley  is  not 

much  better,  "On  the  singing  of  Mrs.  D 

W " : 

Like  a  blithe  birdy  in  a  danksome  isle 

Of  changeless  beauty,  'mid  a  spacious  wood. 

Such  was  the  song,  and  such  the  pensive  smile. 

Robed  in  the  weeds  of  early  widowhood, 

And  yet,  not  so — for  Birdy  has  a  nest, 

And  sings  of  hopes  and  joys  that  soon  are  coming 

When  every  bush  is  in  its  vernal  best 

And  all  her  callow  brood  are  sunk  in  rest,  etc. 

Hartley  Coleridge  did  not  write  as  plainly 
as  did  his  illustrious  sire.     His  autograph  in- 
6  81 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

dicates  degeneracy.  I  cannot  quite  make  out 
what  comes  after  the  "callow  brood/'  although 
I  discover  something  in  the  "lilt  of  joy,  or 
long,  long  note  of  sorrow/'  which  seems  to  have 
inspiration  about  it.  But  I  wish  he  had  not 
called  his  bird  a  "birdy." 

I  am  glad  that  the  present  generation  is  be- 
ginning to  revert  with  interest  to  the  poems  of 
Byron.  He  has  had  his  vicissitudes,  and  from 
an  enormous  popularity  he  sank  to  compara- 
tive oblivion,  but  he  is  evidently  rising  again 
in  the  public  esteem.  The  rather  common- 
place letter  which  fills  his  niche  in  my  Pantheon 
has  nothing  but  a  mere  autographic  value. 
I  am  disposed  to  think  that  a  lot  of  nonsense 
about  his  domestic  relations  tended  to  injure 
his  reputation  among  the  smug  people  who 
seemed  to  control  the  literary  judgment  of  re- 
cent years.  The  atrocious  scandal  which  was 
fomented  concerning  him,  preserved  by  the 
folly  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  had  its  harmful 
effect.  My  belief  that  it  was  without  any  real 
foundation  is  strengthened  by  this  letter  of 
Lady  Byron  in  my  possession : 

PICCADILLY  TERRACE,  Jan.  4,  1816. 
MY  DEAR  AUNT, — You  will  allow  me  the  use 
of  my  eyes  by  this  time  without  a  lecture  to  tell 
you  that  I  and  the  child  are  perfectly  well.     We 

82 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

took  a  drive  in  the  Park  to-day.  My  confine- 
ment has  been  rendered  so  comfortable  by  Mrs. 
Leigh's  kindness  and  affection  which  I  never  can 
forget,  that  I  feel  no  inclination  to  break  loose. 
.  .  .  Not  having  seen  any  company,  I  have 
scarcely  heard  any  news  and  cannot  give  you 
information  except  of  a  domestic  nature.  Of 
this  kind  I  may  (or  perhaps  may  not,  for  I  have 
not  asked  leave)  mention  two  new  poems — which 
the  newspapers  have  metamorphosed  into  one 
Epic — likewise  giving  me  the  credit  of  "tasteful 
criticism"  which  I  have  hitherto  exercised  only 
in  the  more  literal  way  over  roast  and  boiled.  The 
subjects  are  founded  on  historical  facts,  "The 
Siege  of  Corinth"  and  " Parisina."  There  is  more 
description  in  the  former  and  more  passion  in  the 
latter — which  will  be  preferred  on  the  whole,  I 
know  not — they  are  now  in  Murray's  hands. 

It  was  within  a  month  after  this  letter  was 
written  that  the  separation  was  suggested  by 
Lady  Byron's  father.  It  was  four  days  after 
the  date  of  this  letter  that  Lady  Byron  consulted 
Dr.  Baillie  about  Lord  Byron's  sanity.  But 
as  Leslie  Stephen  well  says,  in  the  Dictionary 
of  National  Biography,  an  examination  of  all 
that  is  known  of  Mrs.  Leigh,  of  the  previous 
relations  between  brother  and  sister,  "and 
especially  of  Lady  Byron's  affectionate  relations 
with  Mrs.  Leigh  at  the  time,  as  revealed  in 
letters  since  published,  proves  this  hideous 
story  to  be  absolutely  incredible."  I  shall 

83 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

always  believe  that  if  Lord  and  Lady  Byron 
could  have  been  left  to  themselves,  without 
the  interference  which  outsiders  so  often  seem 
resolved  to  inflict  upon  friends  and  relatives, 
there  would  never  have  been  any  serious 
trouble  between  them.  The  noble  art  of 
minding  one's  own  business  is  not  cultivated 
as  generally  as  it  should  be.  Byron  was  not 
a  saint,  and  few  men  of  letters  were  saints  in 
those  days;  but  a  little  tact  and  wisdom  could, 
I  think,  have  preserved  harmony  between  him 
and  his  wife. 

Consider  Thomas  Carlyle  and  his  spouse. 
Was  there  ever  a  couple  who  dwelt  more  com- 
pletely in  what  a  friend  of  mine  calls  "  ferocious 
gloom"?  Their  feuds  and  quarrels  were  bitter 
and  continuous.  Very  likely  the  sympathies 
of  the  greater  number  are  with  the  woman, 
and  it  is  true  that  the  man  must  have  been  in- 
tensely irritating.  Still,  I  have  not  the  least 
doubt  that  Jane  worried  Thomas  sorely,  and  that, 
if  he  had  departed  this  life  before  her  demise, 
she  in  her  widowhood  might  have  placed  her- 
self upon  the  stool  of  repentance  as  remorseful- 
ly as  he  did.  Perhaps,  after  all,  their  domestic 
ills  and  bickerings  were  no  worse  than  those 
which  come  to  others  living  under  like  con- 
ditions, and  their  woes  have  become  famous 
merely  because  thev  talked  so  much  about  them 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

and  others  have  written  so  much  about  them. 
Let  the  judicious  man  pray  to  be  delivered 
from  his  biographer — or  sometimes  from  his 
autobiographer — videlicet  poor  McClellan  and 
his  "Own  Story." 

I  like  to  read  my  Jane  Carlyle  letter,  for  it 
betrays  such  a  characteristic  confidence  in 
her  charms,  naively  expressed  : 

CHEYNE  Row,  CHELSEA,  Tuesday. 
DEAR  SIR,— I  should  tell  you  that  Mr.  Carlyle 
is  highly  pleased  with  these  photographs  of  me 
— declares  them  the  only  likenesses  of  me  he  has 
ever  seen;  tho'  I  have  been  drawn,  and  painted, 
and  photographed  times  without  number !  He 
likes  them  all,  but  the  profile  one  the  best,  and 
the  full-face  one  the  least.  I  hope  you  will  find 
some  way  of  making  people  know  that  the  three 
photographs  of  Mr.  C.  which  he  selected  are  the 
ones  of  all  that  have  been  done  of  him,  he  him- 
self thinks  the  likest.  It  would  be  a  pity  that 
those  wretched  looking  things  of  Jeffrey's  should 
go  on  being  circulated  when  people  can  have  so 
much  better  likenesses  for  their  money. 
Yours  truly, 

JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

While  her  letters  are  usually  bright  and 
interesting,  it  is  otherwise  with  Carlyle's.  I 
find  his  epistolary  effusions — at  least  those 
which  have  come  under  my  eyes — passably 
dull.  His  dyspeptic  genius  does  not  belong 

85 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

in   the   category   of   immortals.     I   wish   Mrs. 
Carlyle  had  told  us  the  year  and  the  month 
when  she  wrote  the  letter  I  have  quoted.     But 
then  women  seldom  date. 
This  is  an  example  of  the  Great  Bear : 

5  CHEYNE  Row,  CHELSEA, 

LONDON,  15  March,  1846. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  am  informed  by  Mr.  Donaldson 
that  you  have  a  letter  of  Oliver  Cromwell's  which 
is  not  in  my  collection  nor  printed  elsewhere;  and 
that  you  will,  at  my  or  Mr.  Donaldson's  request, 
be  so  obliging  as  favour  me  with  a  copy  of  it.  I 
lose  not  a  moment  in  making  what  application 
to  you  is  in  my  power  for  that  object.  An  exact 
copy, — care  especially  in  the  date  and  address, 
if  any.  Notice  whether  the  original  is  a  copy 
or  an  autograph,  with  what  may  be  known  of 
its  history  hitherto; — on  the  whole  as  much  pre- 
cision in  the  thing  itself  and  in  the  details  of  it, 
as  is  convenient,  and  as  much  expedition,  the 
printer  being  now  close  upon  me  in  his  new  edition 
of  that  book  of  mine.  Mr.  Donaldson  I  hope  will 
second  this  request,  and  an  answer  of  the  kind 
desired  will  reach  me  soon.  Believe  me, 
Yours  very  truly, 

REV.  MR.  OSBORNE.  T'  CARLYLE. 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  Carlyle  to  Chesterfield, 
but  the  two  names  come  near  together  in  al- 
phabetical order,  and  as  I  put  away  Jennie's 
appreciative  tribute  to  the  skill  of  her  photog- 
rapher and  place  it  by  the  portrait  after  the 

86 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Froude  miniature,  I  dislodge  a  letter  from  the 
lord  of  letter- writers.  It  is  written  in  the  stiff, 
school-boy  hand  so  common  in  the  eighteenth 
century : 

LONDON,  June  5,  1753. 

DEAR  BAYLEY, — Your  mother  acquaints  me 
that  you  have  an  opportunity  of  purchasing  a 
company  in  the  regiment  you  are  now  in,  in  case 
your  friends  approve  of  it.  As  I  am  sure  you 
reckon  me  among  them,  I  will  tell  you  that  in  my 
opinion,  early  rank  in  the  army  is  so  advantageous 
to  a  young  fellow,  that  you  ought  by  no  means 
to  let  slip  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  that  of 
captain.  You  want  two  hundred  pounds  for  the 
completing  of  this  affair,  and  I  would  by  no  means 
have  you  run  in  debt  to  other  people.  Therefore 
you  may  draw  upon  me  for  that  sum  which  you 
may  pay  me  by  degrees  as  money  shall  come  in, 
which  with  your  sobriety  and  frugality  it  soon 
will. 

Your  most  faithful  friend 
and  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 

The  general  reader  is  apt  to  think  of  Ches- 
terfield only  as  a  brilliant  man  without  moral 
principles,  cold,  selfish,  and  worldly.  But  the 
fact  is  that  he  was  generous  and  helpful  to 
others,  and  particularly  kind  towards  literary 
men.  This  letter  shows  that  he  did  not  restrict 
his  liberality  to  writers  alone.  His  real  charac- 
ter has  been  obscured  because  Doctor  Johnson, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Horace  Walpole,  and  Lord  Hervey  disliked  him, 
and  their  power  and  influence  as  critics  and 
memoir-writers  have  been  effective  to  establish 
their  view  of  him  as  the  true  one,  irrespective 
of  the  actual  truth. 

If  I  were  a  great  man,  prince,  poet,  or  states- 
man, I  think  I  would  take  measures  during  my 
lifetime  to  secure  my  memory  against  a  perpet- 
uation in  the  form  of  a  "Life"  written  by  a 
near  relative  or  by  an  " intimate  friend."  I  am 
thinking  at  the  moment  of  Forster's  Dickens 
and  Hallam  Tennyson's  biography  of  his 
father.  Collingwood's  Lewis  Carroll  is  in  the 
same  general  class.  Perhaps  it  was  necessary 
that  the  official  Life  of  Tennyson  should  be  a 
cold  and  stately  memorial,  but  I  cannot  forgive 
Forster  for  making  my  Dickens  such  an  or- 
dinary, every-day  cad,  or  Collingwood  for  tak- 
ing all  the  charm  out  of  the  creator  of  the  im- 
mortal Alice.  Of  course,  few  will  agree  with 
me  in  my  judgment,  but  that  does  not  change 
my  mind  one  whit.  They  will  point  me  to 
Trevelyan's  Macaulay  and  to  Lockhart's  Scott  ; 
but  then  these  are  only  shining  exceptions. 

Thinking  of  Hallam  Tennyson's  life  of  his 
father  leads  me  to  take  it  from  the  shelf  and 
look  over  my  Tennysoniana.  I  like  this  letter 
for  its  reference  to  one  of  my  other  idols : 

88 


Jbtrivgfaii, 

jT-rstttaatrt. 
Jslrnf  Wight. 


IM*  /nK<. 

Vt 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

FARRINGFORD,  FRESHWATER, 

ISLE  OF  WIGHT,  Jany.  3,  68. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I   had  some  doubt  as  to  whether 

1  ought  to  accept  your  last  cheque,  but  I  do  so, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  you  will  not  look  upon 
rne  as  an  Oliver  Twist,  "asking  for  more/7 

Yours  very  truly, 

A.  TENNYSON. 

This  reluctant  receipt  of  a  "  cheque  "  is  pleas- 
antly amusing  to  us  ordinary  mortals,  who 
find  ourselves  invariably  taking  the  money 
whether  we  think  that  we  have  earned  it  or 
not.  Could  it  have  been  that  the  noble  laureate 
was  imitating  a  certain  Marchioness  we  all 
know  and  "making  believe"  a  good  deal? 

Another  letter  nestles  between  the  fly-leaves 
of  volume  I. : 

FARRINGFORD,  April  22nd,  1864. 

DEAR  SIR, — You  can  publish  the  words  with 
your  music,  if  you  will.  All  these  songs  have 
been  set  before  more  than  once;  perhaps  you  are 
not  aware  of  this. 

Yours  truly, 

A.  TENNYSON. 

2  songs  from  the  Miller's  Daughter. 
Break,  break,  break. 

(The  Poet's  Song.) 
ARTHUR  SEWELL,  ESQ. 

I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  Tennyson's 
beautiful  lyrics  have  never  been  adequately 
fitted  with  a  musical  setting.  There  was  a 

89 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

certain  Graham  who  arranged  a  melody  for 
"Tears,  Idle  Tears/'  which  is  a  recollection 
of  my  boyhood,  and  which  used  to  seem  to  my 
uncultivated  ear  a  fascinating  composition. 
At  this  day,  I  scarcely  feel  competent  to  judge 
whether  it  was  really  deserving.  What  we 
loved  in  our  callow  years  of  school  and  college 
is  apt  to  be  sacred  in  our  senescent  memories, 
and  we  may  not  trust  ourselves  to  be  judicious 
or  critical  about  it.  I  should  not  care  to  have 
the  beauty  of  that  song,  as  it  lingers  in  my 
antiquated  recollections,  dimmed  by  the  harsh 
analysis  of  the  musical  expert.  I  suppose 
that  our  composers  hesitate  to  marry  their 
work  to  such  splendid  lines  as  those  of  the 
grand  master  of  English  verse.  It  is  a  pity. 
Mrs.  Tennyson  writes: 

Mr.  Tennyson  has  had  no  power  over  his  poems, 
but  he  has  communicated  your  wish  to  Mr.  Stra- 
han.  We  are  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  hopeful 
about  your  work. 

That  was  a  nice,  kindly,  cheering  sort  of 
assurance  to  the  poor  fellow  who  received  it. 
I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  who  he  was.  What 
he  wanted  to  do  with  the  poems  over  which 
Tennyson  had  no  power  is  utterly  incompre- 
hensible to  me;  but  if  he  did  not  take  new  heart 
in  doing  his  "  work/'  whatever  it  may  have  been, 

90 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

after  Mrs.  Tennyson  had  assured  him  that  she 
was  glad  that  he  was  hopeful  about  it,  he  cer- 
tainly exhibited  gross  ingratitude. 

I  wish  that  I  could  read  Hallam  Tennyson's 
letter.  I  have  observed  that  sons  of  great  men 
not  only  fall  below  their  fathers  in  mental  ca- 
pacity, but  sink  infinitely  beneath  them  in  the 
matter  of  plain,  sensible,  and  intelligible  hand- 
writing. As  near  as  I  can  tell,  he  says : 

I  do  not  know  whether  my  father  will  be  induced 
to  recite  "  The  Charge "  again  for  you,  for  he  is 
much  surprised  at  your  proposing  to  advertise 
him  and  his  poem  in  the  way  you  describe  in  your 
telegram. 

This  seems  to  refer  to  a  delivery  by  Tennyson 
of  "  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  "  on  some 
occasion.  It  was  of  this  famous  and  strenuous 
poem  that  the  author  said :  "  It  is  not  a  poem 
on  which  I  pique  myself";  but  it  is  one  of  the 
tickets  which  entitle  him  to  a  seat  in  the  theatre 
of  immortals.  It  is  the  old  story  over  again 
of  the  slighted  offspring  of  genius  who  wins 
the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  while  the  spoiled 
and  ineffective  child  is  coddled  by  the  doting 
parent.  I  am  not  going  to  cite  Milton  with 
his  preference  for  Paradise  Regained,  nor 
Thackeray,  nor  Dickens.  Macaulay's  school- 
boy knows  all  that  by  heart. 


VII 

MY  friends  are  inclined  to  view  with  disfavor 
my  inoffensive  expressions  regarding 
poets,  philosophers,  and  people  in  general,  and 
I  am  growing  timid  about  saying  anything 
frankly.  Men  usually  do  not  say  what  they 
really  think,  but  what  they  believe  other  men 
expect  them  to  think.  My  most  revered  critic, 
the  golf  expert,  tells  me  that  I  am  only  a  rag- 
gatherer,  an  accumulator  of  scraps  of  paper 
with  pen-scratches  upon  them,  a  preserver  of 
things  which  the  perpetrator  would  have  de- 
stroyed if  he  had  dreamed  that  they  would  be 
saved  and  hoarded ;  in  short,  a  mere  chiffonnier. 
He  intimates  that  a  beetle  of  an  autograph 
collector  should  not  presume  to  make  any  re- 
marks about  the  merits  or  the  shortcomings 
of  the  famous.  "  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam," 
he  says,  sardonically,  as  if  he  were  originating 
a  smart  speech.  There  is  nothing  like  a  good 
old  classical  hit  to  humble  me  to  the  dust,  even 
if  it  be  carefully  chosen  out  of  Bonn's  Diction- 
ary of  Quotations,  a  most  useful  storehouse,  al- 

92 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

though  I  recall  the  fact  that  General  Dix,  who 
never  wasted  time,  used  to  devote  the  half -hour 
between  dressing  and  breakfast  to  verifying 
Bonn's  classical  volume,  and  found  enough 
errors  to  fill  a  small  book.  I  have  learned  the 
lesson  that  one  should  never  accept  a  quotation 
second-hand.  He  who  trusteth  to  the  compila- 
tion-book shall  be  undone. 

In  view  of  the  unfavorable  judgment  of  my 
acquaintances,  I  must  endeavor  to  be  careful 
and  circumspect  in  my  comments,  and  I  shall 
not  venture  to  give  my  impressions  of  Froude's 
History  or  of  his  canonization  of  Henry  VIII., 
or  of  his  melancholy  chronicle  of  the  clapper- 
clawing of  the  Carlyles.  Let  no  one  object  to 
that  word,  for  it  is  legitimate: 

Now  are  they  clapper-clawing  one  another;  I'll 
go  look  on.  That  dissembling  varlet,  Diomed, 
has  got  that  same  scurvy,  doting,  foolish  young 
knave's  sleeve  of  Troy  there  in  his  helm.1 

I  shall  let  Mr.  Froude  speak  for  himself  in 
his  own  Froudish  way: 

DEAR  SIR,  — Mr.   Waller's  friend    (or  perhaps 
Mr.  Weller  himself)  would  say  that  "autographs 
is  vanity!" — but  since  you  wish  for  mine, 
I  subscribe  myself 

faithfully  yours, 

J.  A.  FROUDE. 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  v.  4. 

93 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Whether  Mr.  Weller  or  his  friend  would  have 
known  an  autograph  when  they  saw  it,  or  what 
they  would  have  said  on  contemplating  one, 
I  cannot  confidently  conjecture.  Whether  Mr. 
Froude  meant  that  "  autographs  is  vanity  "  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  writer  or  from  that  of 
the  owner,  I  know  not.  I  question  the  truth  of 
the  remark  in  either  sense,  unless  it  be  in  the 
light  of  the  saying  of  the  preacher,  "All  is 
vanity/'  Mr.  Froude  did  his  act  rather  prettily 
and  turned  off  a  "request"  autograph  with  a 
neatness  which  deserves  admiration,  despite 
the  impertinent  fling  at  my  tribe,  which  I  can 
afford  to  treat  with  a  lofty  disdain.  I  am 
willing  to  admit  that  from  a  purely  utilitarian 
"  stand-point  "—the  word  is  objectionable  but 
convenient — the  autograph  letter  of  William 
Shakespeare  is  worth  no  more  than  the  letter 
of  the  most  insignificant  of  mortals.  And 
yet  many  intelligent  people  would,  without 
doubt,  prefer  Shakespeare's  autograph  to  mine. 
We  need  not  pause  to  inquire  why  it  should  be 
so,  nor  is  it  worth  while  to  expend  energy  in 
combating  the  proposition  that  "autographs  is 
vanity/'  Let  us  avoid  such  disputes,  and  let 
us  not  dignify  the  detractors  of  our  pet  pursuit 
by  condescending  to  argue  with  them.  Rather 
let  us  return  to  paths  of  pleasantness  and  peace, 
and  pore  over  the  portfolios. 

94 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  prefer  Mr.  Kipling's  method  of  producing 
a  conventional  autograph  to  that  which  Mr. 
Froude  adopted.  The  letter  is  clear,  direct, 
and  wholly  unobjectionable,  although  it  might 
have  been  more  diffuse  in  style: 

ioi  EARLS'  COURT  ROAD, 

Ap.  27. 
To  the  Editor  "  Once  A  Week  "  : 

DEAR   SIR,  — I    trust   that    the  following   will 
meet  your  views  of  an  autograph. 
Sincerely, 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

This  has  a  flavor  of  good  nature;  there  is  no 
condescension  about  it;  and  the  writer  is  not 
guilty  of  the  affectation  of  weary  submission 
to  the  demands  of  a  tyrannical  bore. 

Whether  or  not  we  approve  of  the  practice  of 
grouping  together  in  a  single  volume  a  number 
of  autograph  letters,  we  must  own  that  it  is  not 
unwise  to  enrich  a  book  by  the  addition  of  one 
letter,  or  at  least  a  line  or  two  and  a  signature 
of  the  author.  It  confers  a  distinction,  and 
adds  to  the  value — I  mean  the  sentimental  value 
and  not  the  pecuniary  value,  which  is  never 
to  be  thought  of  by  the  sincere  lover  of  the  book 
or  the  autograph,  except  when  he  is  pondering 
on  how  to  save  enough  money  to  add  just  a 
few  more  treasures  to  his  hoard.  That  copy 

95 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

of  Christina  Rossetti's  Commonplace  has  an 
outward  appearance  well  suited  to  its  title, 
and  some  former  owner  has  defaced  it,  after  a 
never-to-be-sufficiently-condemned  fashion,  by 
causing  to  be  affixed  to  it,  paste-fastened,  sundry 
extracts  from  newspapers,  technically  known 
as  "cuttings/'  and  a  cheap  portrait  from  some 
periodical;  but  it  acquires  an  individuality 
from  the  little  note  attached  to  a  fly-leaf: 

4  COPT  HALL  PLACE, 

FOLKESTONE,  Saturday  morning. 
Miss  C.  Rossetti  presents  her  compliments  to 
Mrs.  G.  Linnaeus  Banks,  and  thanks  her  for  her 
welcome  offer  of  reviewing  Commonplace.  She 
will  communicate  with  Mr.  Ellis,  in  whose  hands 
the  copies  are,  on  the  subject. 

The  Poems  of  Longfellow  are  none  the  less 
attractive  for  the  four  lines  of  "Excelsior/' 
in  the  familiar  hand  of  the  poet,  the  letters 
sloping  gracefully  to  the  left,  dated  in  Septem- 
ber, 1852;  nor  for  the  odd  manuscript  inserted 
in  the  volume  of  Evangeline,  which,  although 
not  of  Longfellow's  writing,  has  a  certain  rel- 
evancy, for  it  is  a  yellow,  faded  document,  a 
receipted  bill  for  £168  155.,  beginning, "  The  Pub- 
lick— to  the  Watch— Dr./'  and  endorsed  "  Ac1, 
of  John  Beldon  &  the  men  under  his  command 
for  guarding  the  Acadians,  16  March,  1756." 

The  Kavanagh,  too,  is  by  no  means  spoiled 
96 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

for  the  owner  by  this  letter,  written  shortly  after 
the  publication  of  the  tale  and  just  before  the 
appearance  of  The  Seaside  and  the  Fireside 
containing  the  poem  known  of  all  declaimers, 
"The  Building  of  the  Ship/'  which  long  years 
afterwards  some  municipal  wiseacres  in  Brook- 
lyn condemned  as  unsuited  to  schools  because 
of  its  alleged  indecency,  a  quality  which  existed 
only  in  their  Bo3otian  brains: 

CAMBRIDGE,  May  19, 1849. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  cannot  follow  out  your  sugges- 
tions in  regard  to  Kavanagh,  as  it  is  already  pub- 
lished here;  but  in  future  will  not  forget  them,  if 
you  think  it  worth  while  to  take  any  steps  about 
a  copyright.  The  poems  I  propose  to  publish  in 
the  autumn  will  make  a  volume  about  as  large 
as  the  original  edition  of  the  Voices  of  the  Night 
— say  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pages  of  the  size  of  Kavanagh,  making  an  addi- 
tion of  about  one-fifth  of  all,  as  they  now  stand. 
I  think  it  would  hardly  be  worth  while  to  add  any- 
thing to  your  edition  until  you  can  add  all.  You 
have  printed  from  the  Philadelphia  copy.  Would 
you  not  prefer  the  Cambridge,  in  which  the  suc- 
cessive volumes  have  been  added  one  to  the  other, 
without  change  or  rearrangement?  May  I  trouble 
you  to  forward  this  volume  to  Mr.  Gilfillan. 
Yours  truly, 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

As  a  rule,  the  lawyers  are  not  as  interesting 
in  letters  as  they  ought  to  be,  considering  their 
7  97 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

calling  and  their  opportunities  for  observation. 
Perhaps  they  have  taken  to  heart  the  words  of 
Bacon — "  It  is  generally  better  to  deal  by  Speech 
than  by  Letter :  Letters  are  good,  when  a  Man 
would  draw  an  answer  by  Letter  back  again; 
or  when  it  may  serve,  for  a  Man's  Justification, 
afterwards,  to  produce  his  own  Letter;  or  where 
it  may  be  Danger  to  be  interrupted,  or  heard 
by  Pieces/'  Nevertheless  they  occasionally 
intrust  their  unprofessional  thoughts  to  paper, 
and  some  of  them  have  made  important  con- 
tributions to  literature.  Sir  Walter  Scott  says 
that  "a  lawyer  without  history  or  literature 
is  a  mechanic,  a  mere  working  mason;  if  he 
possesses  some  knowledge  of  these,  he  may 
venture  to  call  himself  an  architect/'  But  the 
saying  that  the  law  is  a  jealous  mistress  is  a 
truism;  and  few  men  may  achieve  success  at 
the  bar  and  distinction  in  authorship.  I  know 
of  one,  whose  life  has  surely  been  enviable, 
and  who  has  "all  that  which  should  accom- 
pany old  age,  as  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops 
of  friends  " ;  with  a  mind  so  alert  and  vigorous 
that  he  refuses  to  give  an  affirmative  answer  to 
his  own  query: 

Is  that  oft-uttered  adage  true — 
"The  Old  is  better  than  the  New"— 
Old  ways,  old  wines,  old  friends,  old  books, 
The  ancient  haunts,  the  time-worn  nooks, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

With  Memory's  twilight  overcast, 
Where  visions  of  a  vanished  Past 
Bring  back,  in  all  its  mellow  glow, 
The  Golden  Age  of  long  ago? 

The  men  of  the  law  remember,  no  doubt,  the 
great  controversy  which  arose  over  the  Cour- 
voisier  case  and  the  interminable  debate  which 
was  carried  on  for  some  years  upon  the  question 
whether  a  lawyer  may  honorably  defend  a  cli- 
ent whom  he  knows  to  be  guilty  of  the  offence 
charged.  Many  reams  of  paper  were  wasted  in 
the  effort,  on  the  one  hand,  to  prove  that  a  prison- 
er who  has  confessed  his  crime  to  his  advocate 
is  not  entitled  to  the  aid  of  that  advocate,  and 
on  the  other  to  demonstrate  the  right  of  every 
accused  person  to  the  services  of  counsel  at  his 
trial,  irrespective  of  his  actual  guilt  or  innocence. 
Charles  Phillips,  barrister-at-law,  eloquent,  able, 
and  florid,  nicknamed  "Counsellor  O'Garnish," 
was  a  man  of  excellent  reputation  at  the  bar. 
I  believe  he  was  the  author  of  that  highly 
ornamented  oration  on  Napoleon  which  we 
used  to  declaim  at  school,  and  in  which  the 
emperor  is  described  as  "grand,  gloomy,  and 
peculiar."  Courvoisier  was  a  valet,  charged 
with  the  murder  of  his  employer,  Lord  William 
Russell.  During  the  trial  he  disclosed  his 
guilt  to  Phillips,  who  nevertheless  summed  up 
for  the  defence.  It  was  said  that  the  advocate 

99 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

went  beyond  the  limits  of  propriety  by  pledging 
his  word  to  the  jury  that  his  client  was  innocent. 
It  was  a  perversion  of  what  Phillips  really  said, 
and  every  one  knows  now  that  the  lawyer  only 
did  his  duty,  but  there  was  a  time  when  it  was 
unpopular  to  take  his  part.  Samuel  Warren, 
also  a  barrister,  and  the  author  of  "  Ten  Thou- 
sand a  Year/'  had  his  imperfections;  he  was 
often  the  object  of  ridicule;  he  was  the  theme  of 
many  a  jest;  but  he  was  stanch  and  true  to  his 
brother  of  the  bar,  and  I  like  him  for  his  let- 
ter. He  says : 

35  WOBURN  PLACE,  R.  S. 
3d  January.  1850. 

MY  DEAR  PHILLIPS,— I  feel  it  due  to  you  to 
state  that  I  have,  on  this  day,  for  the  first  time, 
perused,  and  that  with  the  greatest  attention,  the 
Times'  report  of  Courvoisier's  trial  —  especially 
the  opening  address  of  the  late  Mr.  Adolphus, 
your  speech,  and  the  late  C.  J.  Tindal's  summing 
up.  I  have  risen  from  the  perusal  of  these  matters 
with  a  lively  feeling  of  indignation  towards  your 
unprincipled  and  malignant  calumniators  &  of 
admiration  of  your  conscientious  &  guarded  elo- 
quence on  behalf  of  the  blood-stained  miscreant 
whom  it  had  become  your  hard  duty  to  defend. 
Your  defamers  are  guilty  equally  of  suppressio 
veri  et  allegatio  falsi.  My  blood  boils  when  I  think 
of  the  treatment  you  have  received.  1  doubt 
whether  there  was,  or  is,  another  man  living  who 
could  have  acquitted  himself  with  such  exquisite 
judgment  in  a  case  of  such  exquisite  and  appalling 

100 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

difficulty.  Of  Mr.  Adolphus'  opening  I  dare  not 
trust  myself  with  speaking,  he  being  dead.  I 
who  write  all  this  am  a  man  who  never  commits 
himself  lightly  to  black  &  white,  being  penetrated 
with  a  sense  of  the  truth  that  liter  a  scripta  manet, 
but  I  am  convinced  in  my  innermost  soul  that 
you  are  as  highly  honourable,  as  you  have  long 
been  a  foully  wronged  man. 

I  am  ever,  your  attached  &  faithful  friend, 

SAMUEL  WARREN. 

It  was  of  Warren,  who  was  fond  of  consorting 
with  the  nobility,  that  the  story  is  told  about  a 
bragging  remark  to  the  effect  that  when  he 
dined  at  a  certain  duke's  there  was  no  soup. 
"I  suppose  they  had  eaten  it  all  up-stairs/' 
said  Jerrold.  Probably  the  anecdote  dates 
back  to  the  Crusades,  but  we  must  contrive 
somehow  to  keep  up  the  reputation  of  noted  wits. 
I  have  learned  that  when  I  say  a  really  good 
thing,  nobody  seems  to  pay  any  attention  to 
it;  but  if  I  preface  my  jest  with  the  pardona- 
ble falsehoods,  "Sheridan  one  day/'  or  "Mark 
Twain  not  long  ago/'  the  applause  is  deafening. 
I  do  not  mean  to  apply  for  a  patent  on  this 
new  and  useful  improvement,  for  Burnand,  the 
"Happy-Thought"  man,  pre-empted  the  dis- 
covery. You  would  not  have  known  it  if  I 
had  not  told  you,  but,  as  I  am  not  a  Moliere,  I 
cannot  afford  to  be  detected  in  taking  my  own 
property  wherever  I  may  find  it. 

101 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

My  thoughts  revert  to  Froude  and  his  sneer. 
I  pretend  that  I  do  not  resent  these  slights,  but 
I  feel  them.  I  want  an  antidote,  and  it  is  in 
the  upper  drawer  of  the  old  mahogany  cabinet 
which  stands  near  the  north  window.  It  is  the 
kindly  autograph  of  the  admirable  man  who 
toiled  through  life  burdened  with  the  name  of 
"Marie  Jean  Paul  Joseph  Roche  Yves  Gilbert 
du  Motier/'  Marquis  de  Lafayette.  My  eloquent 
friend,  the  Georgia  judge,  said  of  him  that  he  was 
"  a  man  more  illustrious  than  Nathanael  Greene 
and  only  less  distinguished  than  Washington 
himself;  a  major-general  in  our  army  before  he 
was  twenty;  commander  of  the  National  Guard 
of  France  when  he  was  thirty-two;  whose  noto- 
riety was  enlarged  if  his  greatness  was  not  en- 
hanced, for  being  called  a '  noodle '  b3^  the  might- 
iest captain  and  conqueror  since  Julius  Csesar." 

It  is  an  old  and  faded  portrait,  signed  "La- 
fayette/' and  it  was  given  to  some  one  in 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  circa  1824;  an  heir- 
loom which  a  pathetic  poverty  put  upon  the  mar- 
ket; and  I  hold  it  reverently  and  affectionately 
because  of  its  history  as  well  as  for  its  intrinsic 
merit.  Under  the  portrait,  Lafayette  wrote : 

I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  for  the 
kind  request,  and  have  the  honor  to  return  the 
portrait  with  the  name  of  your  grateful  friend, 

LAFAYETTE. 
102 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

They  do  these  things  well  in  France;  and  I 
rejoice  that  the  good  friend  of  ours  who  gener- 
ously devoted  himself  to  our  cause  in  the  Rev- 
olution was  not  only  a  soldier  and  a  patriot, 
but  a  gracious  gentleman. 

True  to  my  principle  that  there  shall  be  noth- 
ing consecutive  in  these  meditations,  I  ram- 
ble back  from  Lafayette  to  lawyers.  After  Sir 
William  Blackstone,  that  overrated  person  who 
earned  immortality  far  too  easily,  Lord  Mans- 
field is  probably  the  most  eminent  occupant 
of  a  seat  in  the  legal  Walhalla.  I  believe  that 
he  is  the  original  inventor  of  the  maxim,  "No 
case,  abuse  plaintiff's  attorney/'  and  of  the  ad- 
vice to  the  colonial  judge  never  to  give  any  rea- 
sons for  his  decisions.  Macaulay  called  him  the 
father  of  modern  Toryism.  His  letter  exhibits  the 
fondness  of  the  men  of  his  day  for  capital  letters : 

KENWOOD,  18  Sept.  1763. 

MY  DEAR  SR,  — The  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury might  easily  judge  &  so  must  ev'ry  Body, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  me  not  to  be  for  Ld  Rock- 
ingham,  upon  such  a  point  if  He  is  set  up  but  I 
don't  recollect  ever  saying  a  Syllable  to  his  Grace 
upon  the  Subject  unless  something  dropped  the 
Day  Ld  Egremont  was  chose,  in  his  Grace's  Hear- 
ing. There  was  a  Talk  of  setting  Ld  Rocking- 
ham  up  then,  but  waved,  because  upon  the  choice 
of  the  Bp.  of  London,  most  of  the  Governors  had 

103 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

engaged  Ld  Egremont  should  be  the  next.  I 
then  said,  but  I  don't  recollect  the  A  B's  could 
hear  me,  that  I  must  be  for  Lord  R.  As  for  your 
being  set  up  next  I  could  have  no  Imagination 
of  it  then,  &  till  I  reed  yr  letter  this  moment  I  never 
heard  of  it.  As  to  the  Rule  that  it  is  always  usual 
to  name  one  of  the  King's  Ministers  to  supply  the 
vacancy,  I  am  persuaded  it  is  not  so.  When  Ld 
Gower  was  chose,  I  believe  it  was  not  on  account 
of  his  office.  When  I  was  chose,  neither  the  Chancr, 
Secretary  of  State,  or  Privy  Seal  were  Governors. 
After  Ld  Talbot  was  Chancr  the  D.  of  Grafton  was 
chose  many  of  the  Govrs.  engaged  to  chose  me 
next.  The  matter  is  not  entire  with  me.  If  I 
had  said  nothing,  it  is  impossible  for  me  not  to 
be  for  Lord  R.  upon  a  personal  matter  of  this  kind 
but  I  have  sd  it  ever  since  Ld  Egremont  was  chose. 
If  I  was  capable  of  doing  otherwise,  I  am  sure 
you  would  advise  me  against  it.  There  is  no 
man  in  England  I  would  be  sorrier  not  to  gratify 
upon  ev'ry  occasion  than  yrself.  I  have  had  a 
long  Acquaintance  &  Friendship  with  you,  which 
enables  me  to  do  Justice  to  yr  Worth.  Against 
ev'ry  other  Man  I  am  ready  to  give  this  mark  I 
am  ready  to  engage  for  the  next,  which  cannot 
be  far  off,  but  nobody  will  in  my  eye  think  it  the 
least  disrespect  to  you  that  I  keep  my  Engagement 
to  my  nephew  whose  guardian  I  was  with  whom 
and  whose  Family  I  live  constantly,  &  who  has 
in  no  degree  broke  private  Friendship  with  me 
tho  we  see  some  Points  in  quite  opposite  lights. 

If  Sir  William  Scott,  Lord  Stowell,  the  brother 
of  Lord  Eldon,  was  not  the  greatest  of  lawyers, 

104 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

he  may  be  called  the  grandfather  of  admiralty 
jurisprudence.  Short  of  stature,  fair-haired,  cor- 
pulent in  later  years,  slovenly  in  dress,  cour- 
teous in  manner,  he  was  also  a  generous  liver 
and  a  "  two-bottle  man/'  His  brother,  the 
Chancellor,  said  of  him,  "He  will  drink  any 
given  quantity  of  port/'  With  all  his  fondness 
for  eating  and  drinking,  he  was  extremely 
frugal;  and  he  was  the  author  of  the  phrase, 
'The  elegant  simplicity  of  the  three  per 
cents/'  My  letter  of  his  seems  more  gas- 
tronomical  than  judicial,  but  it  is  addressed, 
quite  appropriately,  to  the  Master  of  the 
Rolls: 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — A  thousand  thanks  to  you  for 
the  knight's  service  you  have  done  the  Church 
of  England.  Do  give  us  the  Benefit  of  your  pow- 
erful shield.  It  is  an  JEgis  to  us.  Will  you  dine 
with  me  on  Saturday  the  nth.  The  Hero  of  the 
Nile  dines  with  me.  Pray  do  come. 

Yours, 

W.   SCOTT. 

"They've  done  for  me  at  last,  Hardy,"  the 
"hero  of  the  Nile"  said,  that  victorious  day 
of  Trafalgar  when  the  musket-ball  from  the 
Redoubtable  tore  its  way  through  his  spine. 
He  writes  to  Hardy: 

1  Disraeli  tried  to  appropriate  it.  "  The  sweet  simplicity 
of  the  three  per  cents."  (Endymion). 

105 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 


Jany  ^oth  1801. 

MY  DEAR  HARDY,—  As  I  see  it  was  the  Earl's 
intention  not  to  give  me  the  one  day's  duty  in 
Carnsand  Bay,  I  have  wrote  to  Sir  Chs.   Cotton 
to  carry  it  on  as  if  I  was  not  present. 
Ever  yours  truly, 

NELSON  &  BRONTE. 

But  the  association  between  Nelson  and  the  law- 
yers is  perhaps  better  shown  by  another  letter  : 

April  8th  1803,  PICCADILLY. 

MY  LORD,  —  Nothing  but  the  enclosed  could 
have  induced  to  have  wrote  to  your  Lordship  on 
a  business  which  I  fear  I  am  still  wrong  in  doing. 
But  I  trust  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong. 
I  have  known  Capt.  Macnamara  nine  years  he 
was  long  under  my  command,  and  I  can  assure 
you  that  although  Capt.  M.  is  not  the  man  to  take 
an  affront  from  any  one,  yet  I  can  testify  with 
the  greatest  truth  that  I  never  knew  him  give  an 
affront  to  any  Person. 

I  am  with  the  greatest  respect, 

your  Lordship's  most  obedient  servant, 
NELSON  &  BRONTE. 

RT  HONBLE  LORD  ELLENBOROUGH. 

After  a  consideration  of  the  syntax  of  Lord 
Nelson,  I  am  disposed  to  regard  the  "hero  of 
New  Orleans"  as  a  prodigy  of  accuracy  when 
compared  with  the  English  admiral. 

In  the  "English  Miscellaneous"  compart- 
ment is  a  letter  of  Lord  Chief-  Justice  Coleridge, 
in  which  he  says  : 

1  06 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  should  say  that,  putting  Cardinal  Wolsey 
and  Lord  Bacon  out  of  the  question,  Lord  Hard- 
wicke  is  by  far  the  greatest  legal  Lord  Chancellor 
we  have  ever  had. 

It  requires  some  courage  to  dissent  from  the 
judgment  of  a  lord  chief-justice,  but  I  do  not 
concur  in  this  opinion.  I  remember,  however, 
that  dissenting  opinions  are  not  commonly  re- 
garded as  of  much  value.  The  court  is  strong- 
est when  "all  concur/'  In  the  days  of  Sir 
John  Pratt  (C.  J.  1718-1725)  concurrences  were 
in  vogue,  as  appears  from  a  reported  instance 
which  may  not  be  familiar  to  the  present  genera- 
tion. A  woman  who  had  a  settlement  in  a 
certain  parish  had  four  children  by  her  husband, 
who  was  a  vagrant  with  no  settlement.  The 
judgment  is  not  regularly  reported,  but  it  is 
as  follows: 

A  woman  having  a  settlement 

Married  a  man  with  none; 
The  question  was,  he  being  dead, 

If  that  she  had  were  gone. 

Quoth  Sir  John  Pratt,  "The  settlement 

Suspended  did  remain 
Living  the  husband;  but  he  dead 

It  doth  revive  again!" 

(Chorus  of  puisne  Justices.) 
Living  the  husband;    but  he  dead 
It  doth  revive  again! 
107 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

All  this,  however,  is  not  germane  to  Lord  Hard- 
wicke,  who  wrote  this  letter,  which  he  never 
meant  that  I  should  possess: 

POWIS  HOUSE,  Thursday  morn, 

March  $oth. 

MY  DEAR  LORD,— Your  Friend,  my  Lord  Ra- 
vensworth,  came  to  me  last  night  in  order  to  open 
a  Secret  to  me,  which  disturbs  his  Breast,  &  to 
ask  my  opinion  upon  it.  He  thinks  the  House 
of  Lords  is  bound  in  honour  to  call  for  the  same 
Papers  which  the  House  of  Commons  has  called 
for,  relating  to  the  Enquiry ;  and  that,  as  no  body 
else  calls  for  them,  it  concerns  him  in  point  of 
Honour  to  do  it.  Great  Civility  passed  between 
us,  but  I  gave  him  my  opinion  clearly  &  directly 
in  the  negative,  with  my  reasons,  which  his  Lord- 
ship could  not  answer.  However  he  did  not  own 
himself  convinced,  &  I  promised  him  to  turn  it  in 
my  thoughts  last  night,  &  to  call  upon  him  in  my 
way  to  the  House  this  morning,  which  I  shall  do. 
He  said  that  he  would  call  upon  your  Lordship 
this  morning.  If  he  does,  I  beg  you  would  dis- 
suade &  discourage  him  from  it  all  you  can.  In 
short,  it  is  downright  madness.  It  would  be  rep- 
resented as  an  attempt  by  us  to  set  up  a  sham 
enquiry  to  contre-carry  and  defeat  the  Commons' 
Enquiry,  and  indeed  such  Double  Enquiries  have 
generally  been  made  up  for  that  purpose.  Mr. 
Pitt  and  his  Friends  would  probably  take  a  handle 
from  it  to  endeavour  to  make  a  Breach  between  the 
two  Houses,  &  from  thence  make  a  pretence  for 
pushing  a  Dissolution  of  the  Parliament.  It  is 
impossible  that  any  good  can  come  from  it;  and 

108 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

indeed,  I  could  not  find  out  with  what  views  my 
good  Lord  himself  means  his  motion.  I  thought 
it  right  to  give  your  Lordship  this  notice  that  you 
might  be  upon  your  guard;  but  I  beg  you  will  let 
his  overture  appear  new  to  you,  &  not,  discover 
that  you  have  had  this  hint  from  me.  I  am,  my 
dear  Lord,  allways 

Most  affectionately  your's, 

HARDWICKE. 

I  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  noble  lord  to 
whom  this  epistle  was  sent,  but  I  see  plainly 
that  politicians  are  about  the  same  in  the  dif* 
ferent  centuries. 

.  There  is  a  familiar  story  that  some  one  said 
of  Lord  Brougham:  "If  he  had  only  known 
a  little  law  he  would  have  known  a  little  of 
everything/'  Notwithstanding  the  contempt 
which  so  many  have  expressed  with  regard  to 
Brougham's  legal  attainments,  I  am  not  sure 
that  he  was  inferior  to  most  of  the  chancellors. 
Brougham  was  an  active  politician,  and  natu- 
rally incurred  the  hostility  and  was  subjected 
to  the  adverse  criticism  of  the  conservative,  com- 
monplace people  who  fill  up  most  of  the  spaces 
in  English  life  and  at  the  English  bar.  His 
name  and  fame  will  live,  and  I  am  confident 
that  other  chancellors  of  his  time,  Cottenham, 
Sugden,  and  Truro,  for  example,  have  long 
since  been  forgotten,  except  by  old  lawyers. 
There  was  an  American  citizen  who  always 

109 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

called  him  "  Bruffam,"  and,  on  being  corrected, 
exclaimed :  "  You  may  call  him  '  Broom '  if 
you  like,  but  /  call  him  'Bruffam.'"  This 
shows  the  cheerful  independence  of  our  nation- 
al character.  Whether  we  call  him  Broom  or 
Bruffam,  here  is  a  letter,  written  to  J.  Houston 
Browne,  who  published  in  1844  a  pamphlet  en- 
titled "  A  Letter  to  Lord  Campbell  on  his  charge 
against  Lord  Brougham  of  having  deserted  the 
principles  he  once  advocated  " : 

Lord  Brougham  presents  his  compliments  to 
Mr.  Browne  &  really  feels  much  indebted  to  him 
for  having  sent  him  his  most  kind  and  most  ably 
written  tract  which  Ld.  B.  had  never  before  seen. 
Had  he  seen  it,  he  would  have  endeavoured  to  find 
out  at  least  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  return  his  un- 
known defender  his  hearty  thanks.  The  occasion 
is  gone  by,  &  Ld.  B.  believes  the  abuse  is  less  con- 
stant than  formerly.  But  his  gratitude  remains 
the  same  &  if  Mr.  Browne  would  give  him  the 
opportunity,  Ld.  B.  would  feel  most  happy  in 
being  allowed  to  make  his  acquaintance.  He 
is  in  the  morning  either  at  the  H.  of  Lords  or  the 
P.  Council  except  Saturday  &  Wednesday. 

Lord  Campbell  treated  Brougham  harshly  in 
his  memoir,  and  caused  Lyndhurst  to  remark 
that  Campbell  had  added  a  new  terror  to  death. 
The  Letters  of  Junius  have  been  more  talked 
about  and  written  about  than  most  books,  but 
I  never  met  any  one  who  had  read  them 

no 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

all.  If  the  authorship  had  not  been  made 
a  thing  of  mystery,  they  would  no  doubt  have 
been  long  ago  consigned  to  oblivion.  I  do 
not  know  who  wrote  them,  and  really  I  do  not 
care  very  much  to  know,  nor  do  I  lose  any  sleep 
worrying  over  who  wrote  Elizabeth  and  Her 
German  Garden,  or  The  Englishwoman's 
Love  Letters,  or  who  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask 
was.  None  of  these  things  trouble  me.  There 
may  be  curious  seekers  after  truth  who  are  con- 
cerned about  the  matter,  but  I  am  not  of  their 
number.  The  best  evidence  on  the  Junius 
question  tends  to  establish  the  claim  of  Sir 
Philip  Francis,  although  the  testimony  is  by 
no  means  conclusive,  and  I  believe  some  one 
has  printed  a  volume  which  demonstrates  be- 
yond the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that,  of  all  men 
in  the  world  at  that  particular  period,  Francis 
is  the  only  man  who  could  not  possibly  have 
written  Junius.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  have 
a  letter  of  his  which  is  mildly  sarcastic  con- 
cerning America.  It  is  addressed  to  Edward 
Tilghman,  of  Philadelphia : 

LONDON,  8th  July,  1805. 

DEAR  SIR, — After  an  interval  long  enough  to 
produce  or  indicate  oblivion,  I  should  not  take 
the  liberty  to  interrupt  your  repose  by  reviving 
the  unfortunate  subject  of  my  lands  in  Pennsyl- 
vania if  I  did  not  think  that  this  effort  would  be 

in 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

final.  Mr.  George  Morrow,  of  Pittsburgh,  who 
will  deliver  you  this  letter,  is  disposed  to  treat 
with  you  for  the  purchase  of  the  said  lands,  which, 
I  suppose,  cannot  be  sold  by  anybody  but  you, 
as  they  are  held  in  trust  for  me,  in  your  name. 
If  he  should  not  make  you  a  proper  offer,  I  then 
request  that  you  will  sell  them  to  somebody  else, 
on  any  terms,  which  you  think  reasonable:  and 
that  you  will  invest  the  produce,  in  my  name,  in  the 
American  Bank  Stock,  in  which  I  have  at  present, 
121  shares,  and  that  you  will  transmit  to  me  the 
official  receipt  for  the  amount  of  Bank  Stock  so 
purchased.  I  also  request  that  you,  or  some  of 
your  Posterity,  will  favour  me  with  an  answer  to 
this  letter,  and  tell  me  the  result.  I  hope  to  be 
intitled  to  fill  my  next  with  assurances  of  my 
gratitude  for  the  uncommon  care  which  by  that 
time,  undoubtedly  you  will  have  taken  of  my 
property. 

Yours, 

P.  FRANCIS. 

I  should  say  that  Sir  Philip  was  amusing  him- 
self with  Mr.  Tilghman.  Like  most  English- 
men who  "invest"  in  property  in  "the  States/' 
he  seems  to  have  supposed  that  he  owned  a 
bonanza,  and  that  his  innocent  agent  was 
derelict  in  duty  because  the  enterprise  was  not 
a  brilliant  success. 


VIII 

NOBODY  can  be  very  fond  of  Junius,  but 
nobody  can  help  being  fond  of  Boswell. 
Of  course,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Boswell  the 
fame  of  Samuel  Johnson  would  long  ago  have 
faded  into  tradition.  The  typical,  unapproach- 
able biographer  earned  his  renown  because  he 
was  persistently  human.  We  are  all  of  us 
ordinary,  everyday  beings,  and  when  we  en- 
counter others  of  our  kind  who  have  been  in- 
spired to  write  we  greet  them  as  our  fellows. 
Nothing  appeals  to  us  so  much  as  a  man  of  our 
own  sort,  with  our  weaknesses,  our  infirmities, 
and  our  limitations.  When  he  describes  the  life 
of  a  great  personage,  and  puts  into  his  work 
his  and  our  little  meannesses  and  shortcom- 
ings, we  hail  him  as  a  master. 

My  Boswell  letter  was  written  to  William 
Strahan,  M.  P.,  the  famous  publisher,  and  it 
has  a  Boswellian  flavor.  I  feel  like  spelling 
that  word  "flavour/'  because  the  "u"  gives  to 
it  such  an  added  dignity.  I  am  sorry  that  we 
have  dropped  the  superfluous  "  u  "  from  motives 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

of  sordid  economy.  It  lends  a  certain  stateliness, 
to  language,  and  I  would  preserve  it  if  I  could, 
regardless  of  expense.  But  let  us  get  back  to 
the  Laird  of  Auchinleck: 

EDINBURGH,  3  Feby,  1777. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  trouble  you  with  the  enclosed 
for  Sir  John  Pringle.  A  dozen  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
Journey  very  handsomely  bound  have  come  safe, 
of  which  he  has  probably  acquainted  you.  It  is 
a  great  Performance,  and  will  bear  much  study. 
I  think,  however,  that  I  could  write  notes  upon  it, 
which  would  improve  it.1  I  put  into  the  Dr's 
own  hands  a  copy  with  notes  by  Lord  Hailes  & 
Sir  Alexr.  Dick.  I  wish  you  would  get  him  to 
write  more.  Your  friendly  recommendation  of  a 
higher  sphere  of  action  it  is  not  yet  in  my  power 
to  embrace.  I  am  jogging  along  very  well  where 
I  am  till  I  see  an  opening. 
I  am,  dear  Sir, 

Your  most  obedt  humble  servt 

JAMES  BOSWELL. 

I  have  some  autograph  notes  on  this  letter, 
by  George  Birkbeck  Hill,  who  says: 

Johnson's  Journey  to  ike  Western  Islands  was 
published  as  early  as  Feb.  1775.  On  June 
21,  1774,  Johnson  wrote  to  Bos  well:  "I  have 
stipulated  twenty  five  copies  for  you  to  give  in 
your  own  name/'  On  Feb.  25,  1775  he  wrote  "I 
am  sorry  that  I  could  get  no  books  for  my  friends 
in  Scotland.  Mr.  Strahan  has  at  last  promised 

1  "  Oh,  thrice-sodden  ass !  but  what  a  precious  ass !" 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  send  two  dozen  to  you/'  It  was  not  however 
till  November,  1776  that  Boswell  received  the 
copies,  &  then  only  a  dozen.  Boswell  had  before 
shown  his  wish  to  contribute  to  the  book.  .  .  . 
The  "higher  sphere  of  action"  which  Strahan 
recommended  to  Boswell  was  very  likely  the  Eng- 
lish bar,  for  which  he  had  begun  to  eat  his  din- 
ners. He  utterly  failed  at  it. 

I  presume  that  Hill  means  that  Boswell  failed 
at  the  bar,  not  at  the  dinners.  It  is  a  deliciously 
English  idea,  that  of  qualifying  a  man  to  prac- 
tise law  by  requiring  him  to  eat  a  certain  number 
of  dinners.  Lord  Stowell  said  "  a  dinner  lubri- 
cates business/'  and  Lord  Stowell  was  a  wise 
man.  Byron  reminds  us  that 

.     .     .     All  human  history  attests 
That  happiness  for  man,  the  hungry  sinner! 
Since  Eve  ate  apples,  much  depends  on  dinner. 

Still,  I  must  insist  that  the  lawyer  should  not 
be  required  to  eat  his  way  to  the  bar,  particularly 
through  an  English  dinner. 

After  all  these  profound  reflections,  I  come  to 
my  Johnson  letter.  It  is  without  any  distinc- 
tion, except  that  it  is  Samuel  Johnson's  and 
it  was  written  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds' s  sister. 
She  was  an  unmarried  lady,  but  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  day  it  was  addressed  to  her 
as  "Mrs.  Reynolds": 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

DEAR  MADAM, — Instead  of  having  me  at  your 
table  which  cannot,  I  fear,  quickly  happen,  come, 
if  you  can,  to  dine  this  day  with  me.  It  will  give 
pleasure  to  a  sick  friend.  Let  me  know  whether 
you  can  come.  I  am,  madam, 

Yours  affectionately, 

SAM.  JOHNSON. 

Oct.  23,  1783. 

George  Birkbeck  Hill  gives  us  this  note  upon 
the  letter: 

Johnson's  correspondent  is  Sir  Joshua  Reyn- 
old's unmarried  sister  Frances.  She  was  born 
in  1729  and  at  the  age  of  fifty -four  had  assumed 
the  matronly  appellation.  We  find  Johnson  writ- 
ing to  his  step-daughter,  Lucy  Porter,  as  Miss  Por- 
ter in  1770  and  as  Mrs.  Porter  in  1775.  She  was 
born  in  1715.  Three  weeks  before  the  date  of 
this  letter  he  had  written  to  Mrs.  Reynolds:  "I 
am  very  ill,  indeed,  and  to  my  former  illness  is 
superadded  the  gout.  To  my  other  afflictions  is 
added  solitude"  (Letters  of  Johnson,  ii.  357).  He 
had  been  threatened  with  a  dangerous  operation. 
On  October  21  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  The  op- 
eration is  still  suspended,  not  without  hopes  of  re- 
lief from  some  easier  and  more  rational  way." 

No  Johnsoniana  would  be  complete  without 
something  from  Hester  Lynch  Piozzi,  sometime 
Mrs.  Thrale,  who  lived  to  be  eighty,  and  who 
was  inclined  towards  flirtation  even  at  that 
advanced  age.  She  wrote  to  Sir  James  Fellowes 
when  she  was  seventy-four,  in  a  clear,  firm,  and 
beautiful  handwriting : 

116 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Monday  Morng,  BLAKE'S 
HOTEL,  7  Aug.  1815. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  JAMES  FELLOWES,— Will  wish 

to  hear  how  all  ends,  with  his  much  agitated 
Friend  and  her  troublesome  Business;  I  think 
all  ends  in  mere  Smoke  at  least  for  the  Pres- 
ent. The  Anderdons  neither  take  nor  buy,  but 
were  excessively  civil  at  last  and  invited  me  to  a 
famous  Dinner  indeed,  worthy  of  old  Streatham 
Park  in  its  best  Days, — &  /  playd  the  Company 
in  my  own  House,  and  the  Gentleman  who 
sate  next  me  was  an  Admirer  of  our  Dear  Miss 
Fellowes,  &  an  Acquaintance  of  yours.  We  could 
not  I  think  want  for  Chat.  ...  I  was  sorry 
to  break  with  them,  but  Mr.  Anderdon  wanted  a 
Place  where  he  could  make  Improvements,  &  my 
successors  would  have  considered  no  Alteration 
or  Improvement.  He  wished  to  cut  Trees,  & 
throw  down  some  little  Wall,  &  cut  the  Windows 
down.  Why  good  Gracious!  The  girls  would 
cut  my  head  off.  Purchase  did  not  suit  him  he 
said — as  a  temporary  Residence  was  all  he  re- 
quired. So  I  must  exert  my  powers  of  patient 
endurance  till  next  London  Season,  &  then  pro- 
claim an  open  sale  &  if  the  ladies  are  offended, 
who  can  help  it?  Merrik  Hoare  never  called  to 
ask  if  I  was  dead  or  alive,  so  to  day  I  set  out  on 
my  way  back  to  Bath,  where  everybody  will  ask 
me  about  Buonaparte,  &  I  shall  have  nothing  to 
tell.  .  .  .  The  Funds  do  fall  so  strangely  and 
so  fast.  Should  these  Explainers  of  the  Prophecies 
prove  the  wise  men  we  take  them  for,  and  should 
the  call  of  the  Jews  be  at  hand,  their  taking  out 
such  monstrous  sums  would  break  us  up  at  once, 

117 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

but  the  Turkish  Empire  must  give  way  before  that 
hour  approaches  and  rapidly  as  the  wheel  does 
run  down  the  hill,  increasing  in  velocity  every 
circle  it  makes.  I  can't  believe  that  things  are 
coming  so  very  forward,  but  that  poor  H.  L.  P. 
may  by  the  mercy  of  God  escape  these  scenes  of 
Turbulence  &  Confusion.  .  .  . 

Truly  obliged, 

H.  L.  Piozzi. 

John  Keats,  it  is  said,  was  "an  idle  fellow, 
always  writing  poetry/'  but  he  did  not,  after 
all,  produce  many  volumes.  He  must  have 
been  a  charming  person.  "The  character  and 
expression  of  his  features  would  arrest  even 
the  casual  passenger  in  the  street."  His  head 
was  small  in  proportion  to  the  breadth  of  his 
shoulders;  his  hair  was  of  a  golden -brown 
color,  falling  in  natural  ringlets.1  "Every 
feature/'  writes  Leigh  Hunt,  "was  at  once 
strongly  cut  and  delicately  alive.  His  face 
was  rather  long  than  otherwise.  The  upper 
lip  projected  a  little  over  the  under,  the  chin 
was  bold,  the  cheeks  sunken,  the  eyes  mellow 
and  glowing,  large,  dark  and  sensitive/'  "  Like 
the  hazel  eyes/'  says  Severn,  "of  a  wild  gipsey 
maid  in  colour,  set  in  the  face  of  a  young  god." 
Haydon  says  that  his  eyes  had  an  inward 
Delphian  look  that  was  perfectly  divine.  Keats 
died  of  consumption,  and  the  oft-told  story  that 

1  Lowell's  "  Essay  on  Keats." 

118 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

he  was  killed  by  a  famous  review  has  long  since 
been  exploded.  Byron  did  much  to  preserve 
the  tradition  by  saying : 

Tis  strange  the  mind,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  itself  be  snuff  'd  out  by  an  article. 

Keats,  poet  to  the  heart's  core,  made  a  simple- 
ton of  himself  about  Fanny  Brawne;  but  as  he 
died  at  twenty-six,  much  may  be  pardoned. 
I  have  a  letter  of  his,  unknown  to  Mr.  Colvin 
or  to  Buxton  Forman,  editors  of  exceptional 
intelligence  and  pertinacity.  The  very  name 
of  the  young  women  to  whom  it  is  addressed 
is  absent  from  the  index  of  either  editor.  It  was 
written  from  Hemp^tead  on  June  4,  1818,  to 
"Misses  M.  and  S.  Jeffrey/'  of  Teignmouth, 
from  which  place  the  poet  had  just  returned. 
Concerning  it,  some  one  has  written:  "Con- 
sidering the  activity  of  the  maturing  process 
which  Keats  had  been  undergoing  during  his 
sojourn  in  Devonshire,  as  shown  by  his  pub- 
'lished  letters  to  Haydon,  Reynolds,  and  Bailey, 
this  letter  is  curiously  boyish.  The  Misses 
Jeffrey  had  been  Cynthias  of  the  minute,  and 
had  touched  none  of  the  deeper  chords.  They 
had  been  agreeable  companions  at  picnics — 
sisterly,  as  their  mother  had  been  motherly  to 
the  motherless  poet"  —  and  he  writes  accord- 
ingly: 

119 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

MY  DEAR  GIRLS,— I  will  not  pretend  to  string 
a.  list  of  excuses  together  for  not  having  written 
before  —  but  must  at  once  confess  the  indolence 
of  my  disposition,  which  makes  a  letter  more  for- 
midable than  a  Pilgrimage.  I  am  a  fool  in  delay, 
for  the  idea  of  neglect  is  an  Everlasting  Knapsack 
which  even  now  I  have  scarce  power  to  hoist  off ; 
by  the  bye,  talking  of  Everlasting  Knapsacks,  I 
intend  to  make  my  fortune  by  them  in  case  of  a 
war,  (which  you  must,  consequently,  pray  for)  by 
contracting  with  Government  for  said  materials,  to 
the  economy  of  one  branch  of  the  Revenue.  .  .  . 
Oh!  there's  nothing  like  a  pinch  of  snuff,  except, 
perhaps,  a  few  trifles  almost  beneath  a  philoso- 
pher's dignity,  such  as  a  ripe  peach,  or  a  kiss 
that  takes  on  a  lease  of  91  minutes  on  a  billing 
lease.1  ...  I  wish  you  were  here  a  little  while, 
but  lawk !  we  hav'nt  got  any  female  friend  in  the 
house.  Tom  is  taken  for  a  madman,  and  I,  being 
somewhat  stunted,  am  taken  for  nothing.  We 
lounge  on  the  walk  opposite,  as  you  might  in  the 
Den.  I  hope  the  fine  season  will  keep  up  your 
mother's  spirits  —  she  was  used  to  be  too  much 
downhearted.  No  woman  ought  to  be  born  into 
the  world,  for  they  may  not  touch  the  bottle,  for 
shame.  Now,  a  man  may  creep  into  the  bung- 
hole — however,  this  is  a  tale  of  a  tub — however,  I 
like  to  play  upon  a  pipe,  sitting  upon  a  puncheon ; 
and  intend  to  be  so  drawn  on  the  frontispiece  to 
my  next  book  of  Pastorals.  .  .  .  My  brother's 
respects  and  mine  to  your  Mother,  and  all  our 
Loves  to  you.  Yours  very  sincerely, 

JOHN  KEATS. 

1  First  written  "  building  lease  "  and  then  altered. 
120 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  young  dreamer  opened  the  nineteenth 
century  with  a  brilliant  flash  of  real  poetic 
flame.  The  eighteenth  century  passed  away 
with  the  life  of  William  Cowper.  His  name, 
which  he  called  "Cooper/'  is  kept  alive  as 
a  name,  but  I  will  liberally  reward  any  one 
who  can  prove  to  me  that,  prior  to  the  offer 
of  the  reward,  he  had  read  The  Task  entirely 
through.  John  Gilpin  may  possibly  boast 
some  readers  even  at  this  day.  When  I  was  a 
boy  and  had  but  few  books  I  labored  through 
his  Homer,  and,  looking  back,  I  marvel  at  my 
own  youthful  courage.  Cowper  was  so  fearful 
of  imitating  Pope  that  he  became  "bald  and 
prosaic/'  and  produced  a  translation  cramped 
and  halting.1  I  like  his  letter  better  than  I  do 
his  verse: 

MY  DEAR  JACK, — I  am  glad  you  can  prevail 
with  yourself  now  &  then  to  stick  a  pen  in  your  old 
claw  and  tell  me  you  are  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
If  your  face  and  person  are  as  little  altered  as  your 
stile,  you  must  needs  be  as  well  worth  seeing  as 
ever,  and  I  heartily  wish  I  could  have  ocular  proof 
of  it.  Dick  says  you  never  could  write  or  speak 
good  English  in  your  life,  which  is  so  true  yt  it 
were  vain  to  denie  it,  but  your  language  has  al- 
ways been  more  entertaining  than  ye  best  English 
I  ever  met  with.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  receive  a  letter 
from  you  in  more  elegant  phrase  than  usual,  and 

1  Leslie  Stephen. 
121 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

immediately  conclude  yt  being  too  much  indis- 
posed to  write  yourself,  you  have  made  holey- 
poley  or  your  clerk  or  some  such  scholar,  your 
amanuensis.  I  met  Dick  Harcourt  in  Hyde  Park 
yesterday,  he  looked  well  &  was  in  high  spirits, 
so  perhaps  he  has  swallowed  the  grape  shot  you 
speak  of  with  success.  Martin  Madan's  wife 
is  just  brought  to  bed  of  another  son,  his  family 
now  consists  of  2  sons  and  as  many  daughters. 
The  girls  are  both  likely  to  be  handsome.  I  have 
never  seen  ye  boys,  but  they  say  that  which  is 
just  born  has  a  foot  much  longer  than  yours  al- 
ready, so  he  is  likely  to  be  a  proper  man.  I  am 
going  to  cpend  2  or  3  days  at  the  Park,  if  ye  Bank- 
rupts will  give  me  leave;  Will  Cowper  always 
enquires  after  you,  when  he  has  an  opportunity, 
and  so  does  every  Will  Cowper  I  know.  They  are 
whimsical  fellows,  or  they  would  not  do  it.  ... 
Farewell,  old  boy!  shall  I  never  see  your  belly 
peeping  from  under  your  waistcoat  again,  and 
your  left  foot  shaking  itself  upon  your  right  knee? 
— You  date  your  letter  ye  9th  of  May,  no  doubt  in- 
tending to  persuade  me  yt  April  is  past,  that  so 
I  may  forget  to  make  a  fool  of  you — but  look  well 
to  yourself,  for  I  have  a  cap  &  bells  yt  will  just  fit 
you.  Yrs,  dear  Jack,  with  the  old 

wish  of  a  happy  new  Year, 
TEMPLE,  WM.  COWPER. 

Jan.  n,  1759- 

There  are  certain  English  poets  who  assert 
their  title  to  fame  without  any  very  substantial 
reasons,  and  among  the  persons  who  thrust 
themselves  into  the  gallery  of  the  gods  are  such 

122 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

people  as  Robert  Bloomfield  and  John  Clare. 
Clare,  who  died  in  1864,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
one,  wasted  his  time  largely  in  scribbling;  his 
parents  became  paupers,  and  he  himself  was 
compelled  to  apply  for  relief  to  the  parish. 

My  study  of  Clare  leads  me  to  the  belief  that 
he  was  capable  only  of  a  very  mild  effusion  of 
poesy.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  worth  while 
to  reproduce  my  manuscript  poem  of  his — but 
I  will  try  two  or  three  stanzas  at  all  events : 

SLEEP  OF  SPRING. 

0  for  that  sweet,  untroubled  rest 
That  poets  oft  have  sung, 

The  babe  upon  its  mother's  breast, 

The  bird  upon  its  young, 
The  heart  asleep,  without  a  pain, 
When  shall  I  know  that  sleep  again. 

1  love  the  weeds  along  the  fen, 

More  sweet  than  garden  flowers, 
Freedom  haunts  the  humble  glen, 

That  blest  my  happiest  hours, 
Here  prisons  injure  health  &  me 
I  love  sweet  freedom  &  the  free. 

Then  toil  itself  was  even  play 
'Twas  pleasure  e'en  to  weep, 

'Twas  joy  to  think  of  dreams  by  day, 
The  beautifull  of  sleep. 

When  shall  I  see  the  wood  &  plain 

&  dream  those  happy  dreams  again. 

To  MARY  HOWITT, 

NORTHAMPTON,  July  16,  1844. 

123 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  stuff  of  this 
sort  could  ever  be  accepted  as  evidence  of  poetic 
capacity.  The  poet's  corner  of  an  ordinary 
country  newspaper  will  give  us  better  results. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  likeness  between  those 
two  great  masters  of  the  short  story,  Bret  Harte 
and  Rudyard  Kipling.  While  Kipling  is  easily 
the  superior,  Bret  Harte  really  anticipated  him, 
in  his  own  peculiar  style,  by  thirty  years,  and  did 
for  California  what  his  wonderful  successor  has 
done  for  India.  Kipling  writes : 

April  2,  1896. 

SIR, — I  'ave  received  yourn  o'  the  28th  March  an' 
the  pamphlick  likewise,  an'  am  'ighly  pleased  to 
think  you  as  an  ex-jolly  consider  my  verses  suitable 
an'  instrucktive  to  the  core,  for  which  I  'ave  always 
'ad  an'  ever  shall  'old  the  'ighest  respeck.  At  the 
same  time  I  takes  my  pen  to  deny  emphatic,  same 
as  Peter,  that  ever  I  spoke  even  quassi-contempshus 
of  the  core  in  anything  I  ever  done ;  an'  the  Bos- 
ton paper  don't  know  anything  about  it.  When  I 
alluded  to  them  as  "bleached,"  I  meant  them  as 
swings  their  'ammicks  on  the  lower  deck  under  the 
electricks  which  makes  'em  pale  an'  like  fish-bel- 
lies— same  as  torpedo  men  &  engine  room  artificers. 
This  is  my  explanation  an'  affidavit  an'  I  am 
Most  respectful  yours  to  command, 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

May  Bret  Harte  be  considered  to  be  so  great 
that  he  might  as  well  not  be  living?  He  has 

124 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

been  absent  so  long  that  he  seems  almost  one 
of  the  immortal  dead,  and  I  may  again  violate 
my  rule.  Nearly  a  generation  has  passed 
since  his  star  rose  suddenly  out  of  the  West. 
Unfortunately,  his  vein  was  not  deep,  and  he 
soon  exhausted  it,  while  Kipling  is  able  to 
open  new  mines  in  new  directions,  and  aban- 
dons the  old  lodes  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Bret  Harte's  first  Eastern  publisher  was  our 
old  friend  Carleton,  and  most  of  us  remember 
that  first  edition  of  the  Condensed  Novels,  with 
Carleton's  cabalistic  sign  on  the  title-page. 
Then  came  the  Heathen  Chinee  and  the  Luck 
of  Roaring  Camp,  and  the  star  blazed  all 
over  the  firmament.  About  that  time  Harte 
evidently  began  to  think  that  he  had  outgrown 
Carleton  and  the  queer  symbol,  and  even  New 
York,  then  but  a  way  station  on  the  Grand 
Trunk  Railway,  which  had  its  terminus  in  the 
modern  Athens,  on  the  shores  of  Back  Bay. 
He  hastened  to  seek  the  sacred  shrine  there  es- 
tablished in  the  domains  of  James  R.  Osgood  & 
Co.,  and  this  is  one  of  his  letters  to  them : 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Jan  ist,  '71. 

GENTLEMEN, — Pray  accept  my  thanks  for  the 
dozen  presentation  copies  of  the  Poems  as  well 
as  for  their  neat  and  tasteful  appearance.  If 
you  can  obtain  from  Carleton  The  Condensed 
Novels  by  another  attempt,  I  should  be  gratified 

125 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  have  my  works  together,  in  your  hands.  Carle- 
ton  might  be  made  to  understand  that  there  is 
neither  money  nor  reputation  for  him  in  the  re- 
production of  that  monstrosity.  However,  he  has 
not  written  to  me,  nor  do  I  know  anything  of 
the  no.  of  copies  he  has  printed  nor  of  its  success. 
To  balance  an  %  with  the  London  &  San  Francisco 
Bank  here,  at  the  close  of  the  year,  I  took  the  liberty 
to  give  a  draft  upon  your  house  for  Fifty-five  50-100 
Dollars  (gold)  at  sight,  which  I  presume  is  due  to 
me  on  %  of  the  Luck  and  wh.  I  trust  you  will 
duly  honor.  It  is  my  intention  to  visit  the  East, 
leaving  here  on  or  abt  the  1st  Feby —  at  wh  time, 
if  you  are  successful  in  obtaining  the  Novels,  we 
can  arrange  for  its  republication. 
Very  truly  yours, 

BRET  HARTE. 

In  calling  the  Carleton  volume  a  "mon- 
strosity/' Harte  evidently  referred  to  the  style 
of  the  binding  and  press-work,  for  the  burlesque 
was  excellent  and  far  superior,  me  judice,  to 
Thackeray's  more  elaborate  efforts  in  the  same 
field.  We  used  to  think  in  the  old  days  that 
Carleton  was  an  energetic  and  successful  pub- 
lisher; but  when  I  look  at  my  copy  of  the  first 
edition  of  the  Novels,  I  am  not  disposed  to  find 
fault  with  Harte's  severe  criticism  of  it.  It  is 
a  most  unattractive  specimen  of  book-making. 

We  stray  very  far  from  Harte  and  Kipling 
when  we  turn  to  the  letter  of  Mason  Locke 

126 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Weems,  by  turns  parson,  violin  -  player,  tem- 
perance lecturer,  and  book-agent  for  Matthew 
Carey;  immortal  in  the  annals  of  America  as 
the  inventor  of  the  famous  story  of  George 
Washington,  the  hatchet,  and  the  cherry-tree. 
Apochryphal  as  are  his  anecdotes,  his  books 
are  undeniably  fascinating,  and  his  Washing- 
ton is  said  to  be  the  "  most  popular  biography 
of  that  general  in  existence/'  eleven  editions 
being  published  between  1800  and  1811.  His 
Marion  is  scarcely  less  amusing  and  enter- 
taining, and  no  one  can  ever  forget  the  tale 
of  Marion,  the  British  officer,  and  the  sweet 
potatoes.  The  parson  writes  in  a  large,  eigh- 
teenth-century hand  to  his  friend  Coxe,  of  Bur- 
lington, New  Jersey: 

Wm  Coxe  Esq.  PHILADA  9th  16. 

DR  SIR, — Agreeably  to  promise  I  called  on  Mr. 
Mason,  the  Engraver  on  wood.  He  examind  the 
apples  and  says  they  will  cost  4  dolls,  apiece. 
But  that  is  nothing.  The  incalculable  utility  of 
your  book  both  as  a  corner  copy  of  comforts  to 
our  families  and  an  Antidote  against  the  curses 
of  all  destroying  whisky,  will,  I  am  persuaded, 
so  rouse  all  the  Southern  States  in  its  favor  as 
abundantly  to  repay  you  for  all  yr  trouble  &  ex- 
pense. Your  subject  is  a  most  sweet  &  fragrant 
one.  I  pray  you  give  all  diligence  to  embellish 
it  to  the  highest.  I  trust  you  will  make  it,  as 
Solomon  says,  like  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of 

127 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

silver.  In  8  or  10  weeks  I  count  on  seeing  you. 
Shall  be  coming  for  my  carriage  to  your  towns- 
man Mr.  Antrim.  Will  you  do  me  the  great  favor 
to  desire  him  to  begin  it  immediately.  A  word 
from  you  would  go  a  great  way  towards  improving 
its  value  both  as  to  materials  &  workmanship. 

As  to  yr  book  which  I  have  much  at  heart,  you 
will  have  seen  Dr.  Anderson  of  New  York  by  the 
time  I  next  visit  Burlington.  Much  of  the  indi- 
vidual gain  &  public  good  as  to  this  book  will  de- 
pend on  the  exquisiteness  of  the  Fruits — on  paper. 
With  the  best  wishes  in  the  world  for  yourself  & 
family,  I  remain  yours,  M  L  WEEMS 

The  parson's  credit  must  have  been  at  a  low 
ebb,  for  after  all  this  parade  about  his  "car- 
riage" we  find,  at  the  foot  of  the  letter,  in  the 
handwriting  of  the  venerable  publisher,  these 
words :  "  I  am  answerable  for  the  amt.  of  the 
carriage.  M.  Carey." 

We  will  not  undertake  to  discuss  the  question 
whether  George  Washington  was  a  greater 
man  than  Benjamin  Franklin,  because  after 
we  decide  it  the  world  will  not  be  much  the 
wiser.  They  were  both  essential  to  our  success 
in  achieving  independence.  Franklin  writes 
to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  the  first  president  of 
King's  College,  an  institution  now  popularly 
known  as  "Columbia  College/'  and  justly 
eminent  in  the  list  of  our  universities : 

128 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

REV.  SIR, — Enclosed  I  return  your  Noetica  as  you 
desired,  that  you  may  add  or  alter  what  you  think  fit 
before  it  goes  to  the  Press,  in  which  I  should  be  glad 
you  would  be  as  speedy  as  conveniently  you  can. 

Since  your  Way  to  us  is  at  present  blocked  up 
by  the  Spreading  of  the  Small  Pox  among  us, 
which  (if  you  do  not  incline  to  inoculate)  may  be  a 
perpetual  Bar  to  your  settling  here,  as  we  have  it 
every  4  or  5  years,  we  must  endeavor  to  make  our- 
selves Amends,  by  obtaining  as  much  of  your  Advice 
as  we  can  at  a  Distance.  The  Trustees  have  put 
it  on  me,  as  I  first  mov'd  the  English  Education 
here,  to  stretch  out  the  idea  of  the  English  School  ; 
for  which  I  am  indeed  very  unfit,  having  neither 
been  educated  myself  (except  as  a  Tradesman) 
nor  ever  concerned  in  educating  others.  However, 
I  have  done  something  towards  it,  which  I  now 
enclose  to  you ;  and  beg  you  would  either  amend  it, 
or  (which  perhaps  will  be  easier  to  do)  give  us  a 
Compleat  Scheme  of  your  own.  I  suppose  the  Boys 
in  this  School  to  be  generally  between  8  years 
of  Age  and  16,  and  that  after  they  leave  it  they 
may  have  time  to  learn  Merchandizing,  Husbandry, 
or  any  other  Profession  (that  does  not  need  the 
learned  Languages)  by  which  they  are  to  be  sup- 
ported thro'  Life.  If  they  have  Estates  already 
provided  for  them,  they  may  continue  longer,  and 
make  a  farther  Progress  in  Philosophy,  &c.  Mr. 
Francis  and  Mr.  Peters  are  both  well  and  desire 
always  to  be  remembered  to  you.  I  have  thoughts 
of  taking  a  Ride  to  Elizabeth  Town  to  see  the  Gen- 
tleman you  recommend.  I  am  with  great  Respect, 
Sir,  Your  obliged  hum.  servant 

PHILADA.  Oct.  25,  1750.  R  FRANKLIN. 

9  129 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

It  seems  strange  that  so  practical  a  person  as 
the  author  of  Poor  Richard  should  ornament 
his  signature  by  the  addition  of  a  flourish 
beneath  it.  Somehow  it  leads  one  to  believe 
that  there  was  a  little  spice  of  vanity  in  Frank- 
lin's composition.  Fortunately,  the  flourish  has 
ceased  to  be  customary.  It  may  have  been  with 
Franklin  only  a  part  of  the  formality  which 
characterized  letters  before  the  days  of  stenog- 
raphers and  the  type-writing  machine. 


IX 


IN  a  moment  of  incautious  reliance  on  mem- 
ory, I  made  a  mistake  of  fact  about  Gen- 
eral Scott's  famous  "hasty  plate  of  soup" 
letter,1  and  my  conclusion  was  erroneous,  as 
conclusions  usually  are  which  are  based  upon 
false  premises.  It  shows  that  Davy  Crockett's 
rule,  amended  so  as  to  read  "Be  sure  of  your 
facts,  then  go  ahead/'  is  a  good  one  to  follow. 

The  letter  which  aroused  so  much  merriment 
was  written  long  before  the  campaign  of  1852. 
Scott,  then  the  general  -  in  -  chief  of  the  army, 
was  clamoring  to  be  sent  to  the  front  in  Mexico, 
but  Marcy,  the  Secretary  of  War,  was  reluctant 
to  afford  to  a  Whig  general  the  opportunity  to 
make  a  military  reputation  which  might  carry 
the  possessor  into  the  White  House.  There  was 
a  spicy  correspondence,  and  in  answering  one 
of  Marcy's  letters  the  general  began  thus : 

SIR, — Your  letter  of  this  date,  received  about 
six  o'clock  P.M.  as  I  sat  down  to  take  a  hasty  plate 
of  soup,  demands  a  prompt  reply. 

1  Ante,  p.  19. 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

My  inference  that  it  was  a  common  and  jocose 
mode  of  expression  of  Scott  is  therefore  unfound- 
ed, for  my  own  letter  is  of  much  later  date; 
but  the  pleasant  use  he  made  of  a  form  of  speech 
which  had  brought  ridicule  upon  him  shows 
a  humorous  appreciation  of  the  matter  which 
is  quite  refreshing.  After  all,  my  mistake  is 
not  of  much  importance,  except  to  me,  for  I 
always  feel  sure  that  I  never  make  a  blunder 
— until  I  am  caught  at  it. 

It  is  a  pity  that  there  are  so  many  men  who 
have  no  "fads."  When  I  say  "fads,"  I  wish 
to  record  my  earnest  disapproval  of  the  dic- 
tionary definition  of  that  word,  which  is:  "A 
trivial  fancy  adopted  and  pursued  for  a  time 
with  irrational  zeal;  a  matter  of  no  importance, 
or  an  important  matter  imperfectly  understood, 
taken  up  and  urged  with  more  zeal  than  sense; 
...  a  temporary  hobby."  That  is  the  Century; 
perhaps  some  of  the  others  may  not  be  as  erro- 
neous. I  confess  that  I  have  a  strong  antipathy 
to  these  much-advertised  dictionaries  who  tell 
us  how  many  more  words  they  have  in  them 
than  any  other  dictionary.  There  are  too 
many  words  to  worry  us  as  it  is,  and  I  favor 
the  dictionar}^  which  will  cut  down  the  number 
— Stormonth,  for  example,  who  ignores  "  fad  " 
completely,  but  he  goes  too  far  in  that  instance. 

132 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  do  not  know  what  Webster  would  say  about 
it,  for  I  have  never  owned  a  Webster.  Colonel 
Dan  Van  Buren  used  to  say  that  Webster  was 
not  an  authority  at  all,  and  that  he  always 
thought  Dr.  Parkman  was  justified  in  murder- 
ing him.  He  refused  to  retract  on  being  as- 
sured b3T  a  simple-minded  auditor  that  it  was 
not  the  same  Webster,  and  that  it  was  Park- 
man who  was  murdered.  The  trial  of  Profess- 
or Webster  is  a  fascinating  tale  of  horror. 
George  C.  Holt  some  years  ago  gave  in  one  of 
the  magazines  a  very  graphic  abstract  of  it, 
which  will  bear  reading  several  times.  But 
I  am  wandering — I  was  meditating  about  fads, 
and  the  association  of  ideas  carried  me  away. 
I  appeal  from  the  lexicographer's  judgment 
to  what  our  old  professor  of  mental  and  moral 
philosophy  used  to  call  "the  unanimous  tes- 
timony of  the  unperverted  conscience  of  man- 
kind/' The  fad  is  the  saving  grace  of  mod- 
ern life,  keeping  us  cheerful  and  redeeming  us 
from  sordid  inanity.  When  Talleyrand  told  the 
whistless  man  about  the  sad  old  age  he  was 
preparing  for  himself,  he  merely  conveyed  the 
thought  that  without  some  harmless  occupa- 
tion, engaging  the  attention  and  diverting  the 
mind  from  the  regular,  daily  toils  of  life,  man 
is  but  a  melancholy  thing  to  contemplate.  I 
have  a  sort  of  sympathy  with  that  unaccount- 

133 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

able  individual  who  "  plays  the  races/'  although 
I  own  that  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  that 
means.     I  respect  the  accomplished  person  who 
knows  all  about  etchings,  the  enthusiast  who 
gathers  tea-jars,  and   the   gleaner  of   shabby 
old  tapestries.     I  can  understand  how  a  rational 
human    being   may  become   addicted   to  golf 
after  reading  Sutphen's  stories.     Conceive  the 
golfer's  wrath  when  he  is  told  that  he  is  devot- 
ing himself  to  "a  trivial  fancy/'  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.     The  golf-man,  however,  is  incited  to  his 
nefarious  exertions  largely  by  the  expectation 
of  seeing  his  noble  patronymic  recorded  in  the 
newspapers,   as,    for   example,    the  fourteenth 
in  the  autumn  handicap,  or  as  qualifying  for 
the  second  round  in  the  match  for  the  Mards- 
leyrol   Cup.     In  this  respect  he  differeth  not 
from  most  of  his  fellow  -  beings,   who  regard 
the  publication  of  their  names  in  the  daily  jour- 
nals, whether  on  the  sporting  page  or  in  the 
"society  notes/'  as  delightful  items,  affording 
much  interest  and  enjoyment  to  what  President 
Zachary  Taylor  called  "all  the  world  and  the 
rest   of   mankind."     The  autograph  collector, 
the  real  collector,  rises   superior  to  such  folly. 
It  is  of  no  earthly  consequence  to  him  whether 
or  not  his  name  is  in  the  gazette,  rightly  or 
wrongly  spelled.     The  fleeting  fame  of  a  news- 
paper notoriety  is  to  him  a  matter  of  no  moment. 

134 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

He  knows  that  the  average  merchant,  broker, 
or  clerk,  who  toils  industriously  through  his 
morning  paper  as  he  flashes  down-town  on 
the  lightning  trains  of  the  "Elevated"  or  the 
swift-darting  vehicles  of  the  "Metropolitan/' 
would  not  know  what  kind  of  a  curio  the  collec- 
tor was  if  he  saw  him,  and  could  with  difficulty 
be  made  to  comprehend  what  the  collector  was 
busy  about  if  he  should  be  beguiled  into  read- 
ing am^thing  on  the  subject.  If  over  half  the 
page  should  gleam  the  red  headline,  "An  Au- 
tograph Collector  finds  a  Shakespeare  letter!" 
he  would  turn  from  it  with  calm  indifference 
and  contempt,  to  devour  with  keen  relish  the 
delectable  descriptions  of  polo  games  and  prize- 
fights or  the  exquisite  reports  of  the  stock- 
market. 

When  the  inexpert  attempts  to  give  infor- 
mation about  autographs,  the  result  is  always 
amusing  and  occasionally  exasperating.  I  re- 
call one  person  who  some  years  ago,  in  the 
pages  of  an  otherwise  respectable  monthly, 
exhibited  himself  as  a  collector — Heaven  save 
the  mark! — and  deliberately  exposed  his  grossly 
unprofessional  conduct  by  openly  confessing 
not  only  that  he  wrote  to  men  asking  for  their 
autographs,  but  that  he  actually  accumulated 
signatures.  Compare  him  with  the  eminent 
Bostonian  who  carries  his  feeling  against  mere 

135 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

signatures  so  far  that  he  will  not  own  one  of 
Thomas  Lynch,  Jr.,  of  South  Carolina;  and  as 
there  is  nothing  else  in  the  Lynch  line  outside 
of  the  Lenox  Library,  he  can  never  possess  a 
set  of  the  Signers.  I  remember,  too,  a  long  story 
in  a  New  York  paper  about  somebody's  re- 
markable collection,  in  which  there  were  speci- 
mens of  such  notable  rarity  as  Robert  Morris, 
a  Continental  bill  with  John  Hart's  name  upon 
it,  and  a  genuine  letter  of  President  John  Tyler. 
Let  us  turn  from  such  things  and  dwell  no  more 
upon  a  picture  so  extremely  revolting. 

To  the  collector  it  is  not  important  whether 
any  newspaper  ever  gives  him  a  place  among 
those  people  who  were  "also  present"  or  who 
"also  spoke/'  He  fails  to  see  the  advantage 
of  being  thus  exposed  to  public  view.  The 
interest  of  the  "press  mention"  is  purely  tran- 
sient, but  his  occupation  is  "a  joy  forever," 
a  thing  of  beauty — a  Krrjfia  e?  det.  The  ex- 
pression reminds  me  of  the  story  of  Keats,  in 
which  it  is  related  that  when  the  poet  was  at 
work  in  the  company  of  a  medical  friend  he 
exclaimed, "  Isn't  this  good? — '  A  thing  of  beauty 
is  a  constant  joy."  The  friend  replied,  with 
that  enthusiasm  so  characteristic  of  friends, 
"Yes,  but  it  seems  to  lack  something."  And 
then,  after  a  pause,  came  the  line  as  we  know 
it,  at  the  threshold  of  Endymion. 

136 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

You  may  call  it  a  hobby,  if  you  please,  but 
I  shall  continue  to  assert  that  my  pet  pursuit  is 

A  joy  forever. 

Its  loveliness  increases;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness. 

I  like  that  word — hobby.  There  is  a  solid 
strength  about  it.  I  am  not  fond  of  the  man 
who  is  without  one.  Not  long  ago  the  president 
of  one  of  the  greatest  book  clubs  in  the  world 
turned  his  clear  and  comprehensive  mind  away 
from  Japanese  art  and  Whistler  long  enough 
to  tell  me  what  the  late  William  Maxwell  Evarts 
once  said  of  David  Dudley  Field,  before  one 
of  those  tiresome  committees  of  the  Legislature 
which  in  former  years  gave  perpetual  audience 
to  those  who  wanted  and  to  those  who  did  not 
want  a  Civil  Code.  The  Code,  as  everybody 
knows,  was  the  fad  of  Field.  "  I  am  reminded/' 
said  Mr.  Evarts,  "that  once  a  kindly  person, 
visiting  a  lunatic  asylum,  observed  one  of  the 
inmates  astride  of  a  wooden  structure,  imitating 
a  rider  upon  his  steed.  Thinking  that  he  might 
please  the  patient,  he  said, '  That  is  a  fine  horse 
you  have  there/  The  rider  answered,  with 
scorn,  'Horse!  horse!  This  isn't  a  horse;  it's  a 
hobby/  'Well/  said  the  visitor,  'what  is  the 
difference?'  '  Difference!'  said  the  alleged  luna- 
tic, 'all  the  difference  in  the  world.  You  can 

137 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

get  off  a  horse,  but  you  can  never  get  off  a 
hobby/" 

Field  never  got  off  his  hobby;  and  the  presi- 
dent and  I  will  never  get  off  of  ours  Jam  certain. 
I  have  my  doubts  about  the  Keats  tale — not 
about  the  president's,  for  that  is  unimpeachable. 
I  do  not  believe  that  any  poet  would  sit  down 
by  the  side  of  a  physician — even  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  or  John  Allan  Wyeth 
— and  say  to  himself,  "I  think  I  will  write 
Endymion.  How  is  this  for  a  first  line?"  I 
am  always  sceptical  concerning  most  of  these 
stories,  usually  fabricated  by  some  imaginative 
and  irresponsible  inventor,  and  by  frequent 
repetition  they  become  history.  The  "good 
story"  commonly  belongs  among  the  apocry- 
pha, and  the  ben  trovato  remark  is  consider- 
ably overworked. 

Whenever  a  witiy  great  man  dies,  all  the 
smart  sayings  of  the  century  are  attributed 
to  him.  When  Evarts  closed  his  long  and 
honorable  career,  it  made  me  sad  to  see  some 
of  the  stock  anecdotes  of  antiquity  revived  and 
furbished  up  for  the  occasion.  He  said  so 
many  good  things  which  were  his  own  that 
it  is  cruel  to  place  ancient  quips  to  the  credit 
of  the  departed  statesman.  There  ought  to 
be  a  clearing-house  for  these  things,  and  an 
appropriate  distribution  of  them,  so  as  to  avoid 

138 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

confusion  and  prevent  the  wayfaring  reporter 
from  fastening  the  same  story  upon  several 
distinguished  personages  in  rapid  succession. 
Jokes  ought  to  be  registered,  so  as  not  to  be 
transferable  to  bearer. 

There  is  one  anecdote  of  Mr.  Evarts  which 
I  have  never  seen  in  print  and  which  I  have 
reason  to  think  is  true.  On  one  of  his  later 
birthday  anniversaries  Senator  Hoar  wrote  to 
him  and  congratulated  him  upon  his  length 
of  years.  In  his  reply,  the  aged  lawyer  said — 
I  cannot,  of  course,  quote  his  exact  words — 
that  he  reminded  himself  of  an  old  lady  in  New 
England  who  had  occasion  to  write  to  a  friend 
about  some  matter  of  trifling  importance,  and 
when  she  had  reached  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
page,  awaking  to  the  fact  that  she  had  been 
rather  diffuse,  she  added,  "  Please  excuse  my 
longevity/' 

It  is  a  common  belief  that  the  rich  man,  with 
his  carte  blanche  order  to  his  agent  to  buy  this 
or  that  unique  and  extraordinary  thing,  cannot 
feel  the  joy  of  possession  as  keenly  as  does  the 
impecunious  enthusiast  who  knows  that  he  is 
extravagant  when  he  indulges  his  passion  even 
to  a  modest  extent.  A  famous  silver-million- 
aire once  said  that  he  never  realized  what  it  was 
to  be  rich  until  he  found  that  he  did  not  care 

139 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

whether  he  won  or  lost  at  cards.  I  think  I 
should  like  to  be  conscious  some  time  of  the 
sensation  of  not  caring  how  much  I  paid  for 
a  manuscript.  My  wife  says  —  but  I  am  in- 
clined, on  reflection,  to  suppress  her  remarks, 
as  I  suppress  my  comments  on  Japanese 
curios. 

The  rich  man,  however,  in  my  judgment, 
gets  more  enjoyment  from  his  purchases  than 
we  paupers  are  disposed  to  concede  to  him. 
We  all  of  us  know  men  of  ample  means  who 
derive  the  greatest  pleasure  from  their  collec- 
tions, whether  of  books  or  of  autographs. 

But  who  can  describe  adequately  the  exalta- 
tion of  spirit  with  which  a  true  collector  ex- 
pands when  he  acquires  by  gift,  or  directly 
from  the  writer,  a  really  good  autographic 
treasure!  These  emotions  are  almost  too  sa- 
cred to  be  chronicled. 

I  have  read  all  my  life  about  the  oppressions 
of  the  publisher,  and  it  is  almost  a  surprise  to 
find  that  he  can  be  a  merry  fellow,  after  all. 
It  is  a  consecrated  tradition  among  authors 
that  publishers  are  to  be  ridiculed  and  reviled. 
The  wielders  of  the  pen  are  always  complain- 
ing about  the  man  who  takes  all  the  financial 
chances,  and  who  seldom  becomes  very  wealthy. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  a  good  companion 

140 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

that  James  Ballantyne  failed  in  business.  He 
makes  me  dissent  from  the  time-honored  per- 
version, "Now  Barabbas  was  a  publisher/' 
I  do  not  care  if  Lockhart  does  denounce  him 
as  the  cause  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  pecuniary 
troubles.1  Sir  Walter  wrote  of  him: 

I  have  been  far  from  suffering  from  James 
Ballantyne.  I  owe  it  to  him  to  say  that  his 
difficulties  as  well  as  his  advantages  are  owing 
to  me. 

Ballantyne  writes  to  John  Johnstone,  the 
actor,  as  follows : 

"  And  so  you  think  to  keep  me  oot  o'  your  party, 
my  dawtie?  Na,  na:  just  bring  Mr.  Johnstone 
here,  and  let  him  dine  upon  some  broth.  I  want 
to  tell  him  how  he  delighted  me  last  night  and  I 
couldna  forgie  if  ye  dinna  fetch  him/'  Such  is 
the  omnipotent  hest  of  my  good  mother  and  so 
must  it  be — with  your  honour's  lave.  Deuce  take 
and  devil  burn  this  day !  What  is  to  be  done  with 
it?  I  have  all  my  cavalry  ready  and  if  it  clears 
anything  decently  by  two  or  half  past  two,  I  will 
call  for  you,  and  will  take  a  round  till  half  past  4. 
Till  two  I  am  especially  engaged  with  our  friend, 
the  Bard,  who  is  here  for  a  day  on  his  road  to  Ashe- 

1  I  know  that  Andrew  Lang,  cial  ruin,  and  insists  that  it 

in   his   Life    and    Letters   of  was  not  his  object  to  establish 

John  Gibson  Lockhart,   con-  the  proposition  that  they  were 

tends  that  Lockhart  never  as-  solely  to  blame.      His  argu- 

serted  that   the   Ballantynes  ment  on  this  point  is  specious, 

were  the  cause  of  Scott's  finan-  but  not  convincing. 

141 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

stiel.  I  dare  say  he  will  dine  with  us,  and  I  hope 
you  will  like  it.  Will  call  at  half  past  two,  at  all 
events. 

Thine 

J.  BALLANTYNE. 

You  never  played  better,  seldom  as  well  as  last 
night.  Och!  it  was  tremendously  great!!! 

Yet  the  fame  of  this  actor  whose  performance 
was  " tremendously  great"  rests  to-day  with 
only  the  antiquarian  of  the  stage. 

The  literary  character  and  the  literary  life 
have  changed  radically  in  recent  years.  To 
read  Mr.  Howells's  delightful  record  of  his 
younger  days  in  Boston  and  in  Cambridge, 
and  of  the  colonies  of  writers  there  flourishing 
in  the  late  sixties  and  early  seventies,  brings 
the  melancholy  reflection  that  such  conditions 
appear  to  be  no  longer  possible.  I  met  a  clergy- 
man at  dinner  a  few  days  ago  who  said  that 
Howells's  book  was  "a  stupid  performance." 
He  uttered  an  unconsciously  severe  criticism 
upon  himself;  but  then  he  is  of  that  class  of 
people  who  obtain  distinction,  or  think  they  do, 
by  belonging  to  the  minority.  It  is  a  cheap 
sort  of  glory. 

In  thinking  of  this  transformation,  I  have  in 
my  mind  a  charming  old  gentleman  who  wrote 
in  what  may  be  called  the  "  Hudson  River  style." 
I  wish  I  had  one  of  his  letters.  I  have  watched 

142 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  catalogues  for  years  in  the  vain  hope  that 
one  would  make  its  welcome  appearance.  He 
was  a  refined  and  gentle  creature,  a  typical 
rector,  and  in  that  period  when  we  were  all 
imitating  English  models  he  wrote,  in  a  genial, 
inoffensive,  and  some  might  say  in  a  prolix 
and  euphuistic  fashion,  his  pleasant  and  in- 
nocuous tales  and  essays.  He  was  distinctly 
"a  man  of  letters/'  Dr.  Shelton  wrote  The 
Rector  of  St.  Bardolphs,  Up  the  River,  and 
Peeps  from  a  Belfry,  and  he  was  one  of 
the  bulwarks  of  Knickerbocker,  that  pioneer  of 
American  magazines.  He  passed  away  years 
ago,  but  his  fragrant  memory  lives  in  the 
hearts  of  the  few  who  were  fortunate  enough 
to  enjoy  the  sweetness  of  his  nature  and  the 
broadness  of  his  culture.  His  type  has  vanished. 
Like  the  conventional  lawyer  of  the  novel  and 
the  drama,  and  the  family  doctor,  whose  funeral 
oration  Dr.  Helmuth  has  pronounced,  the  old- 
fashioned  "  man  of  letters "  has  become  a  part 
of  the  life  of  the  past. 

Some  men  have  strange  habits  in  the  matter 
of  writing.  Was  it  not  Buffon  who  never  com- 
posed except  in  full  court-dress?  Dickens  was 
enamoured  of  a  wretched  blue  ink,  and  Irving 
was  accustomed  to  scribble  upon  the  backs  or 
unused  half-sheets  of  old  letters.  If  you  will 

143 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

go  to  the  bookcase  on  the  right  and  take  down 
the  third  volume  on  the  top  shelf,  you  will  find 
the  manuscript  of  chapter  viii.,  volume  5, 
of  the  Life  of  Washington,  and  you  will  see 
that  it  has  been  written  entirely  upon  such 
scraps.  In  the  same  volume  is  a  letter  from 
George  D.  Morgan  to  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
written  from  Sunnyside  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  November  29,  1859,  conveying  the 
news  of  Irving 's  death.  Mr.  Morgan  says: 

Washington  Irving  is  dead.  He  retired  to  his 
room  about  10  o'clock  feeling  more  languid  than 
usual,  and  complaining  of  pain  in  his  side,  but 
apparently  not  more  unwell  than  he  had  been  for 
months  past.  Just  as  he  reached  his  room,  and 
while  his  niece  was  near  him,  he  suddenly  fell 
and  in  a  moment  was  gone.  A  physician  was 
soon  with  him,  but  no  mortal  aid  could  avail  to 
bring  him  back.  I  saw  him  within  an  hour  from 
the  time  he  was  taken,  and  he  seemed  as  if  in  a 
peaceful  sleep. 

By  the  side  of  the  same  volume  is  a  small,  neatly 
bound  memorandum  book,  bearing  the  stamp 
on  the  inside  of  the  cover,  "Rue  St.  Honor  e. 
Lavallard.  a  Paris/'  and  it  is  filled  with  notes 
in  the  small,  not  always  legible,  handwriting  of 
Washington  Irving.  It  is  not  easy  to  decide 
exactly  what  the  purpose  of  these  notes  was, 
but  it  has  been  suggested  that  they  may  be 

144 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

memoranda  for  use  in  the  preparation  of  the 
Knickerbocker  History.     Here  are  some  entries : 

Yonkers  or  Jonkers  —  derived  from  Jonk  heer, 
a  young  gentleman.  The  appellation  given  to 
the  heir  of  a  Dutch  famity.  Yonkers  constituted 
a  portion  of  the  great  manor  of  Philipsburgh  until 
in  1779  the  estate  was  confiscated  &  conveyed  to 
the  people  of  the  State  of  N.  Y.  In  1788  it  was 
erected  into  a  separate  township.  .  .  .  The 
Neparan  or  Saw  Mill  River  rises  from  two  perennial 
springs  in  the  bosom  of  the  Chappaqua  hills.  To 
this  river  the  Indians  used  to  offer  sacrifices,  "  the 
perpetuity  of  its  motion  typifying  to  them  the 
eternity  of  God  "  (Qu?)  In  the  N.  West  corner  of 
the  town  is  the  rock  Amackasin,  or  the  great  stone 
sometimes  called  Myhkakaskin  and  Macakassin. 
In  the  Delaware  language  Mekhkakhasin  sig- 
nifies copper  and  "  akhsin "  stone.  This  stone 
lies  in  a  nook  on  the  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  the 
foot  of  a  steep  bank  covered  with  cedars  &  laurels 
(&  perhaps  hemlocks).  Its  name  was  sometimes 
given  to  a  neighboring  brook. 

Perhaps  the  tremendous  and  appalling  Indian 
names  may  not  be  given  correctly,  and  I  ask 
indulgence  for  them. 

The  casual  reader  must  be  puzzled  to  tell 
why  all  this  about  Yonkers.  Yonkers  is  a 
thriving,  busy  river -side  town,  which  has 
some  interest  because  it  is  the  home  of  a  poet 
known  of  all  lovers  of  literature,  who  has  the 
touch  of  Bon  Gaultier  and  of  Ingoldsby  Barham, 

145 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

but  with  infinitely  more  of  delicacy  and  re- 
finement; and  it  is  also  the  abiding-place  of 
the  author  of  the  House-Boat  on  the  Styx.  I 
do  not  think,  however,  that  when  Irving  made 
these  notes  he  was  acquainted  with  William  Al- 
len Butler's  Nothing  to  Wear  or  with  Barnum's 
Parnassus,  and  Mr.  Bangs  had  surely  not  then 
been  born.  I  do  not  recall  any  mention  of 
Yonkers  in  the  Knickerbocker  History,  al- 
though there  may  be  a  casual  reference.  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  my  little  book  was  a 
catch-all,  without  especial  connection  with  any 
particular  work. 

A  most  interesting,  lovable  figure  in  our 
history,  this  same  historian  of  Knickerbocker 
fame — of  whom  we  of  New  York  must  be  forever 
proud.  The  wrath  of  some  of  our  old  Dutch 
families  at  his  jocose  and  irreverent  treatment 
of  their  ancestors  was  only  amusing.  Why, 
Irving  gave  them  their  patents  of  nobility! 
If  it  were  not  for  him,  where  would  be  our  Knick- 
erbocker aristocracy  to-day?  Not  so  many 
months  ago  I  read  an  article  by  an  excellent 
dame,  in  which  she  lamented  that  our  early 
history  had  been  defaced  by  Irving's  burlesque, 
so  that  no  one  would  take  our  colonial  found- 
ers seriously — intimating  that  no  one  reads 
"  Knickerbocker  "  now,  but  that  the  sad  effects 
remain ;  and  contrasting  us  most  unfavorably 

146 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

with  New  England  in  respect  to  our  colonial 
records. 

Not  read!  Publishers  are  constantly  getting 
up  new  editions.  New  England!  I  would  not 
exchange  a  page  of  our  genial,  jovial  story  for 
volumes  of  the  long,  drea^,  and  monotonous 
annals  of  our  friends  who  killed  old  women 
and  persecuted  Christians  differing  with  them 
in  their  theology. 

He  was  a  shrewd  observer,  too,  and  had  a 
fair  comprehension  of  politics.  He  writes  from 
Washington,  on  February  2d,  1811,  to  his 
friend  William  P.  Van  Ness : 

We  are  looking  with  anxiety  to  your  proceed- 
ings in  our  State,  particularly  in  Albany,  where 
you  seem  to  be  in  a  delectable  state  of  turmoil  and 
confusion.  I  wish  you  would  let  us  know  what 
Armstrong  is  manoeuvering  about,  whether  he 
and  Spencer  are  great  confidants,  and  whether  he 
seems  to  be  on  full  understanding  with  the  Clin- 
tonians.  For  my  part,  I  thank  the  Gods  that  I 
have  attained  to  that  desirable  state  of  mind  in 
which  I  can  contemplate  these  party  feuds  without 
caring  two  straws  which  side  gets  the  worst  of  it — 
my  only  wish  being  that  they  may  give  each  other  a 
sound  drubbing.  As  to  talking  of  patriotism  and 
principle,  Fve  seen  enough  both  of  general  and  state 
politics  to  convince  me  they  are  mere  words  of  battle 
— "  Banners  hung  on  the  outer  walls  " — for  the  rab- 
ble to  fight  by — the  knowing  leaders  laugh  at  them 
in  their  sleeves  for  being  gulled  by  such  painted  rags. 

147 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  great  Gibbon  had  an  odd  fancy  for  writ- 
ing on  the  backs  of  playing-cards.  Every  little 
while  I  find  one  of  his  autographs  thus  inscribed. 
Mine  is  the  "six  of  hearts"  and  this  is  the 
writing : 

Bon  pour  trois  cent  livres 
a  Blondel,  mon  valet  de  chambre. 

£300  E.  GIBBON 

a  5  Decembre,  1789. 

Considering  the  way  in  which  the  illustrious 
author  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  behaved  towards 
poor  Mile,  de  Curchod,  he  might  well  have  chosen 
clubs  rather  than  hearts  as  a  medium  of  com- 
munication. 

Authors  generally  seem  to  scorn  anything 
like  a  plain,  readable  handwriting,  but  Payne 
Collier,  who  although  amiable  and  industrious 
has  never  been  acquitted  of  the  charge  that  he 
forged  alleged  old  manuscripts  in  large  quan- 
tities, appears  to  have  had  some  conscience 
about  chirography,  if  we  may  judge  from  a 
letter  written  when  he  was  more  than  ninety 
years  old.  He  says  : 

There  were  two  bad  men  of  the  name  of  Wain- 
wright  it  seems.  One  (he  was  transported)  I  only 
saw  once  at  C.  Lamb's;  but  I  did  not  then  know 
anything  of  his  character  and  I  only  just  remember 
him:  my  father  never  liked  him  &  how  he  got  to 
Lamb's  I  do  not  recollect,  if  indeed  I  ever  knew. 

148 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Before  you  praised  my  handwriting,  you  ought  to 
have  waited  for  the  present  display  of  my  infirmity. 
I  feel  that  my  handwriting  is  just  upon  the  turn. 
I  used  to  write  (in  my  newspaper  days)  with  won- 
derful swiftness  and  even  now  I  can  get  on  pretty 
rapidly:  but  I  never  mend  a  pen. 

It  is  an  instance  of  the  fleeting  ^character  of  a 
novelist's  reputation  that  the  stories  of  Wilkie 
Collins  should  now  be  neglected.  They  were 
good  stories ;  he  had  a  mastery  of  plot  and  a 
style  which  carried  one  along  as  if  upon  a  swift 
current.  But  few  read  the  stories  to-day. 
Perhaps  they  were  too  contemporaneous,  too 
characteristic  of  their  own  time,  and  did  not 
possess  the  mysterious  quality  which  gives 
lasting  fame. 

There  are  few  English  novels  more  enter- 
taining than  The  Woman  in  White,  No  Name, 
and  Man  and  Wife.  Those  who  remember 
Clara  Morris,  James  Lewis,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert 
in  the  dramatized  version  of  Man  and  Wife 
will  always  be  fond  of  that  book.  How  pretty 
Fanny  Davenport  was,  and  how  comical  was 
George  Parkes  (of  the  perfectly  fitting  gar- 
ments)., whose  memory  has  long  since  faded ! 

Collins  writes  of  one  of  his  stories : 

Mr.  Lacy  has  misinformed  you  on  the  subject 
of  No  Name.  I  suffered  from  a  severe  attack  of 
illness  after  finishing  the  book  and  being  unable 

149 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  dramatise  it  myself,  I  engaged  Mr.  Boyle  Bernard 
to  make  very  hastily  a  dramatic  version  of  the 
story  purely  with  a  view  to  protect  my  own  interest 
in  it  so  far  as  the  stage  was  concerned.  The  ver- 
sion thus  produced  was  printed  and  (formally) 
published  under  my  lawyer's  advice.  But  it  has 
never  been  represented  on  the  stage — having 
served  its  purpose  in  enabling  me  to  reserve  my 
own  right  to  dramatise  my  own  story  when  the 
opportunity  offered. 

I  do  not  care  to  enroll  myself  among  the 
laudatores  temporis  acti,  nor  to  take  a  place 
among  those  who  continually  do  cry,  "How 
much  better  things  used  to  be!"  But  great 
poets,  great  historians,  great  novelists  —  at 
least,  great  English  -  writing  ones — are  becom- 
ing scarce.  Let  any  one  try  to  make  a  list  of 
living  men  who  may  justly  be  described  as 
eminent  in  those  fields  of  literature.  There  is, 
however,  a  "mob  of  gentlemen  who  write  with 


ease." 


THERE  is  a  sort  of  autograph  -  to  -  order 
which  I  call  the  mock -modest.     It  is  a 
surprise  to  find  such  a  personage  as  Lord  Rose- 
bery  indulging  in  that  description  of  composi- 
tion.    Here  is  the  evidence  of  his  weakness : 

Lord  Rosebery  presents  his  compliments  to 
Miss  C but  would  rather  not  make  her  col- 
lection and  himself  ridiculous  by  sending  it  the 
autograph  of  an  insignificant  person. 

This  phase  of  Lord  Rosebery  is  by  no  means 
as  pleasant  as  "  The  Last  Phase  of  Napoleon/' 
To  say  nothing  of  the  absurd  self-disparage- 
ment which  deceives  nobody,  there  is  no  ex- 
cuse for  denominating  Miss  C.  an  "it."  He 
may  plead  that  "it"  means  "her  collection." 
The  plea  is  overruled.  People  send  autographs 
to  other  people,  not  to  "collections."  More- 
over, the  pretence  of  not  sending  an  autograph 
while  really  sending  it  is  puerile,  and  it  is  not 
original.  Everybody  remembers  how  Horace 
Greeley  answered  an  application,  sputtering, 
in  his  most  characteristic  and  illegible  hand, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  the  effect  that  he  never,  under  any  circum- 
stances, wrote  an  autograph  for  anybody. 
Lord  Rosebery  might  have  refrained  from 
imitating  an  eccentric  American  editor.  It 
may  be  pardoned,  perhaps,  to  a  meditating  col- 
lector to  refer  to  the  well-authenticated  story 
that  Greeley  once  wrote  an  angry  letter  dis- 
charging a  printer,  which  that  individual  used 
successfully  for  years  as  a  recommendation. 

Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson  writes  far 
more  gracefully  than  the  English  nobleman. 
This  is  from  the  New  England  essayist: 

I  have  your  note.  If,  as  somebody  says,  ap- 
plications for  autographs  are  "a  shadow  cast  by 
success/'  I  suppose  one  can  no  more  object  to  them 
than  one  can  quarrel  with  his  shadow. 

While  those  of  us  who  are  enamoured  of  the 
"standard"  works  of  fiction  are  not  apt  to 
fall  in  love  with  the  writers  of  the  present  time, 
yet  we  cannot  treat  lightly  the  popularity  of 
those  tales  whose  many  thousand  copies  are 
distributed  all  over  the  world.  After  all,  the 
last  century  has  passed  into  antiquity,  and  the 
Barries,  the  Caines,  and  the  Crocketts  have 
succeeded  to  the  places  of  the  old  story-tellers. 
I  have  just  found  a  letter  of  Crockett: 

DEAR  MRS.  D , — I  need  not  say  that  I  had 

a  delightful  afternoon  yesterday  with  you  quietly, 

152 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

and  with  your  husband  and  his  beautiful  first 
editions.  Also  rummy,  the  fascinating,  a  noble 
peony-rose,  burning  a  hole  in  the  landscape  of  a 
dull  day. 

"  To  Hopton  House  we'll  go,  we'll  go, 
A  band  of  young — &c  " 

Noble  woman,  thou  slayer  of  yellow  asters,  I  thank 
thee  for  that  word.  And  pray  accept  some  120,000 
words  of  mine.  I  would  give  them  all  for  rummy. 
"To  Hop—"  &c. 

As  long  as  I  preserve  my  sanity 
I  am,  gratefully  yours 

S.  R.  CROCKETT 

There  is  just  a  little  obscurity  about  this  letter. 
It  is  evident  that  the  lady  and  "  rummy  " — what- 
ever "  rummy  "  may  mean — were  more  attractive 
than  first  editions.  No  one  would  find  fault 
with  that,  for  what  sensible  person  would  waste 
time  over  first  editions  under  the  circumstances? 
But  I  do  not  intend  to  quote  much  from  the 
letters  of  living  men,  unless  they  are  so  very 
great  that  they  might  as  well  be  dead. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  argue  in  support  of 
the  proposition  that  Gilbert  and  Sullivan  were 
public  benefactors.  It  is  sad  to  say  "were/' 
and  to  reflect  that  the  admirable  musician  has 
penned  his  last  score  and  has  disappeared  from 
our  lives.  I  like  this  playful  note: 

153 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

8  Nov.  1867. 

MY  DEAR  PAYNE,  — I   shall  hang  about  the 
vSteps  of  the  Conservative  Club  on  Tuesday  until 
the  clock  strikes  7.30  when  I  shall  boldly  enter  and 
demand  you  and  my  dinner. 
Yrs  ever 

ARTHUR  S.  SULLIVAN. 

This  is  another  one  which  gives  a  glimpse  of 
his  pleasant  nature : 

THE  VICARAGE,  EGHAM, 

9  Sept.  1872. 

DEAR  MADAM,— I  received  Mr.  M's  kind  let- 
ter this  morning  and  am  much  obliged  to  him 
for  his  offer.  I  should  like  to  accept  it  very  much, 
but  it  is  rather  costly  for  me  as  I  am  obliged  to 
have  a  good  many  conveyances  for  the  infirm  or 
invalid  of  my  family  and  friends.  .  .  .  The 
cow  is  well  again,  I  am  glad  to  say — her  illness 
was  a  great  blow  to  us.  .  .  .  We  are  very 
comfortable  and  happy  and  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  let  us  stay  a  little  longer — only  we  have  rather 
more  rain  than  we  care  for.  .  .  . 

A  blessing  upon  you,  master,  who  added  so  much 
to  the  world's  "stock  of  harmless  pleasure/' 

The  wonderful  old  man  who  for  two  genera- 
tions filled  so  large  a  space  in  literature  and 
politics  was  a  great  writer  of  letters.  There 
are  few  collections  which  do  not  boast  of  one 
or  more  of  the  ever-legible  pages  of  Gladstone. 

154 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

He  was  a  fertile  producer  of  postal-card  auto- 
graphs, and  he  sent  forth  enough  to  plaster  over 
the  entire  surface  of  the  United  Kingdom.  One 
of  my  letters  has  a  slight  American  interest : 

LONDON,  July  23,  88. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — In  considering  your  letter  I 
have  thought  that  a  note  such  as  the  inclosed 
would  answer  your  purpose  and  would  be  my  best 
mode  of  action.  I  could  not  indeed  well  go  beyond 
it,  for  I  feel  that  there  is  something  of  the  same 
objection  to  literary  contact  with  Col.  Ingersoll 
as  to  a  scuffle  with  a  chimney  sweep.  I  think 
it  would  be  futile  to  make  any  application  to  Car- 
dinal Newman  at  his  great  age.  I  am  just  writing 
afresh  to  Mr.  Rice  to  beg  and  pray  for  a  copy  or 
two  of  my  article  on  Col.  I.  which  I  do  not  possess 
in  ms.  and  have  not  yet  seen  in  print. 
I  remain,  faithfully  yours, 

W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 

Some  time  ago,  in  glancing  over  the  pages 
of  an  English  weekly  with  a  distinguished 
name,  I  came  upon  a  pleasant  article  by  one  of 
London's  famous  experts,  describing  the  de- 
lightful deficiencies  of  the  sale-catalogue  of 
Augustin  Daly's  library,  and  the  little  essay 
was  attractive  to  such  a  degree  that  it  led  me 
to  convert  a  portion  of  my  personal  property  into 
British  currency  in  order  that  I  might  become 
a  subscriber  to  the  journal.  I  say  "journal" 
advisedly,  because  it  calls  itself,  despite  the 

155 


Meditations  otf  an  Autograph  Collector 

fact  that  it  is  issued  only  once  a  week,  Jour- 
nal of  English  and  Foreign  Literature,  Science, 
the  Fine  Arts,  Music  and  the  Drama.  To 
judge  from  its  title,  one  would  say  that  its  field 
of  usefulness  is  at  least  reasonably  extensive. 
It  makes  me  think  of  Mr.  Casey's  Encyclo- 
paedia of  Useful  Knowledge  and  Ladies'  Com- 
panion. I  can  imagine  how  one  of  its  stately, 
cold-hearted  contributors  would  fall  crushingly 
upon  any  modest  American  weekly  which 
should  style  itself  a  "journal/'  and  would  say, 
in  substance :  "  This  publication  contains  some 
good  passages,  but  they  are  so  few  and  far 
between  that  we  only  regret  that  the  editor 
should  have  undertaken  a  task  which  appears 
to  be  beyond  his  powers;  and  we  are  wholly 
unable  to  comprehend  why  it  should  be  called 
a  'journal'  when  it  is  not  quotidian." 

This  journal  is  always  quite  unkind  towards 
anything  American;  it  avails  itself  of  every  op- 
portunity to  sneer  at  our  unfortunate  people.  In 
the  current  number  it  says,  for  example :  "  Mr. 
Randolph  is  as  hazy  in  his  views  as  to  trade 
as  are  most  Americans/'  On  the  whole,  not- 
withstanding our  haziness,  we  have  done  pretty 
well.  But  ever  since  I  became  a  subscriber  I 
have  been  holding  weekly  revels  over  the  solem- 
nities of  this  excellent  journal  and  its  pompous 
utterances,  which  would  almost  bring  smiles  to 

156 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  faces  of  the  awful  statues  in  Westminster 
Abbey. 

There  does  not  appear  to  be  any  adequate 
reason  why  English  reviewers  should  be  as 
hard  and  severe  as  they  almost  invariably 
are.  Their  style  bears  to  true  criticism  about 
the  same  relation  which  the  conduct  of  the 
savage  who  knocks  down  the  object  of  his  af- 
fections and  drags  her  to  his  home  bears  to 
the  conventional  courtship  of  civilization.  We 
need  not  commend  an  easy-going,  perfunctory, 
adulatory  method  of  reviewing,  but  there  should 
be  no  clubbing  of  a  harmless  author  merely 
because  he  may  have  fallen  into  a  few  trifling 
errors.  Any  writer  is  entitled  to  a  fair,  gener- 
ous, and  liberal  treatment.  It  is  a  small  and 
petty  mind  which  will  use  the  power  of  an 
anonymous  reviewer  to  denounce  and  ridicule 
his  subject.  A  late  number  of  this  journal, 
which  comes  to  us  with  leaves  uncut  to  an  ex- 
tent arousing  feelings  of  exasperation,  proceeds 
to  trample  with  hob-nailed  shoes  upon  an  inof- 
fensive treatise  on  "American  Literary  His- 
tory/' by  a  much-respected  Harvard  professor, 
and  I  quote  one  of  its  stately  comments : 

The  chapters  devoted  to  Poe  and  Whitman,  who  are 
generally  regarded  in  this  country  as  the  only  writers 
of  true  original  genius  whom  the  United  States  have 
yet  produced,  are  totally  inadequate  to  their  subject. 

157 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  assertion  is  certainly  disparaging  to 
English  literary  judgment.  I  have  an  im- 
pression that  there  may  be  some  Britons,  not 
reviewers,  who  have  a  glimmering  idea  that 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne  ranks  at  least  by  the 
side  of  the  gray  poet  of  Camden;  although 
there  are  passages  in  Leaves  of  Grass,  such  as 
those  which  adorn  Enfans  d'Adam,  for  ex- 
ample, which  no  doubt  appeal  more  powerfully 
to  the  aesthetic  sensibilities  of  the  reviewer  than 
the  melodious  and  delicate  dreamings  of  the 
pure  and  noble  romancist.  I  have  heard,  too, 
that  one  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  much 
esteemed  by  our  neighbors  over  the  sea,  Thomas 
Carlyle  among  the  number.  It  is  unnecessary, 
however,  to  dwell  on  the  subject  further  than  to 
wish  for  Charles  Lamb's  candle  and  to  examine 
the  critic's  bumps. 

We  may  admit  that  Poe  is  wonderful  in  a 
way,  but  is  he  immortal?  Howells  says:1 

"Whose  criticisms?"  asked  Emerson. 

"  Foe's,"  I  said  again. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried  out,  after  a  moment,  as  if  he 
had  returned  from  a  far  search  for  my  meaning, 
"  You  mean  the  jingle-man  I" 

I  may  remark  that  when  I  first  observed  in  a 
newspaper  this  Emersonian  reference  to  Poe  it 

1  Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance,  p.  63. 

158 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

read  "the  jungle  man/'  and  I  thought  it  meant 
Kipling. 

There  are  those  who  doubt  whether  Poe  was 
really  a  great  character.  It  seems  sometimes 
as  if  his  promise  was  greater  than  his  per- 
formance. However,  when  a  copy  of  Al  Aaraaf 
is  bought  for  $1,300  at  a  Boston  sale,  and  a  first 
edition  of  The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue  com- 
mands the  price  of  $1,000,  as  we  have  seen  with- 
in a  recent  period,  we  may  as  well  concede  the 
surpassing  eminence  of  that  strange  personage 
who  would  have  been  amazed  to  receive  an 
offer  of  such  sums  for  his  entire  copyright. 

One  of  my  letters  is  essentially  commonplace, 
but  I  give  it  as  an  evidence  of  the  courtesy  of 
distinguished  men.  It  ought  to  appeal  to  the 
heart  of  the  autograph-lover : 

NEW  YORK,  May  25, 1846. 

DR  SIR, — It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  comply 
with  your  very  flattering  request  for  an  auto- 
graph. Respy  Yr  Mo  Ob  St 

EDGAR  A.  POE. 

But  my  favorite  letter  is  the  original  of  one 
which  is  given  in  full,  with  an  excellent  fac- 
simile, in  Ingram's  Life  of  Poe.1  There  is  so 
much  in  having  it  before  me,  in  the  painfully 

1  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  by  J.  H.  See  Woodberry's  Poe,  p.  277, 
Ingram,  London,  1880,  ii.  107.  where  the  letter  is  also  printed. 

159 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

elaborate  chirography  of  the  hapless  poet,  whose 
anguish  did  not  disturb  the  elegance  of  his  pen- 
work,  that  I  cannot  refrain  from  transcribing 
it,  familiar  though  it  may  be.  He  wrote  it  to 
Mrs.  Shew,  on  January  29,  1847,  the  day  before 
the  death  of  his  wife,  whom  he  dearly  loved : 

KINDEST— DEAREST  FRIEND,— My  poor  Vir- 
ginia still  lives,  although  failing  fast  and  now  suf- 
fering much  pain.  May  God  grant  her  life  until 
she  sees  you  and  thanks  you  once  again!  Her 
bosom  is  full  to  overflowing — like  my  own — with  a 
boundless,  inexpressible  gratitude  to  you.  Lest 
she  may  never  see  you  more,  she  bids  me  to  say 
that  she  sends  you  her  sweetest  kiss  of  love  and 
will  die  blessing  you.  But  come — oh  come  to- 
morrow! Yes,  I  will  be  calm — everything  you  so 
nobly  wish  to  see  me.  My  mother  sends  you,  also, 
her  warmest  love  and  thanks!  She  begs  me  to 
ask  you,  if  possible,  to  make  arrangements  at  home 
so  that  you  may  stay  with  us  tomorrow  night.  I 
enclose  the  order  to  the  Postmaster.  Heaven  bless 
you  and  farewell.  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

FORDHAM,  Jan.  29,  '47. 

Many  things  may  be  pardoned  to  this  erring, 
brilliant  mortal.  However  we  may  judge  him, 
it  is  something  to  have  a  London  literary  despot 
pronounce  him  to  be  one  of  the  two  men  of 
original  genius  produced  by  America. 

Almost  everything  pertaining  to  Poe  has 
some  attraction  for  the  student  of  American 

160 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

letters.  Perhaps  this  autograph  manuscript  of 
his,  all  interlined  and  corrected  in  his  clear, 
pretty  handwriting,  may  not  be  wholly  dull: 

Before  quitting  the  Mag.  just  mentioned  I  saw, 
or  fancied  that  I  saw,  through  a  long  and  dim 
vista,  the  brilliant  field  for  ambition  which  a  Maga- 
zine of  bold  and  noble  aims  presented  to  him  who 
should  successfully  establish  it  in  America.  I 
perceived  that  the  country  from  its  very  constitu- 
tion, could  not  fail  of  affording  in  a  few  years,  a 
larger  proportionate  amount  of  readers  than  any 
upon  the  earth.  I  perceived  that  the  whole,  ener- 
getic, busy  spirit  of  the  age  tended  wholly  to  the 
Magazine  literature — to  the  curt,  the  terse,  the 
well-timed,  and  the  readily  diffused,  in  preference 
to  the  old  forms  of  the  verbose  and  ponderous,  & 
the  inaccessible.  I  knew  from  personal  experience 
that  lying  perdus  among  the  innumerable  planta- 
tions in  our  vast  Southern  &  Western  countries 
were  a  host  of  well-educated  men,  singularly  devoid 
of  prejudice,  who  would  gladly  lend  their  influence 
to  a  really  vigorous  journal  provided  the  right 
means  were  taken  of  bringing  it  fairly  within  the 
very  limited  scope  of  their  observation.  Now 
I  knew,  it  is  true,  that  some  scores  of  journals  had 
failed  (for  indeed  I  looked  upon  the  best  success 
of  the  best  of  them  as  failure)  but  then  I  easily 
traced  the  causes  of  their  failure  in  the  impotency 
of  their  conductors,  who  made  no  scruple  of  basing 
their  rules  of  action  altogether  upon  what  had 
been  customarily  done  instead  of  what  was  now 
before  them  to  do,  in  the  greatly  changed  and 
constantly  changing  condition  of  things. 
»  161 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  have  given  only  one  page  of  the  seven.  I  do 
not  think  it  was  ever  printed.  It  closes  with  a 
pathetic  appeal: 

It  is  very  true  that  I  have  no  claims  upon  your 
attention — not  even  that  of  personal  acquaintance. 
But  I  have  reached  a  crisis  of  my  life  in  which 
I  sadly  stand  in  need  of  aid,  and  without  being 
able  to  say  why — unless  it  is  that  I  so  earnestly 
desire  your  friendship  —  I  have  always  had  a 
half  hope  that  if  I  appealed  to  you,  you  would 
prove  my  friend.  I  know  that  you  have  unbounded 
influence  with  the  Harpers,  &  I  know  that  if  you 
would  exert  it  in  my  behalf  you  could  procure 
me  the  publication  I  desire. 

This  is  the  more  pitiful  when  one  thinks 
how  the  great  houses  would  scramble  to-day  for 
a  few  pages  of  Poe.  But  publishers  are  not 
prophets.  The  men  of  the  '40*3  could  not  foresee 
the  dictum  of  the  English  people  in  1901  or  the 
verdict  of  American  critics.  For  them  Poe  was 
the  erratic,  the  irresponsible,  the  untrustworthy 
creature  who  quarrelled  with  his  associates  and 
who  penned  caustic  views  of  his  contemporaries 
in  the  intervals  of  composing  what  Emerson 
might  have  called  "jingle  verse/'  Recent  biog- 
raphers insist  that  his  shortcomings  were  exag- 
gerated by  writers  like  Griswold;  but  their  own 
admissions  show  that  he  must  have  been  at 
times  an  exceedingly  uncomfortable  companion. 

162 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

We  come  to  the  only  other  original  American 
genius — Mr.  Walt  Whitman,  the  person  who 
"loafed  and  invited  his  soul." 

It  may  be  that  Whitman  is  the  consummate 
flower  of  our  literature  and  that  I  am  all  wrong 
about  it,  but,  in  frankness,  he  seems  to  me  to 
be  an  overrated  person.  I  recognize  the  fact 
that  these  utterances  of  mine  are  only  a  con- 
glomeration of  reflections,  the  vagrant  thoughts 
of  an  unimportant  individual,  but  I  would  be 
willing  to  submit  my  judgment  on  this  point 
to  the  popular  vote;  for  the  taste  of  our  people 
has  gone  beyond  the  rough,  the  grotesque,  and 
the  shapeless. 

My  Whitman  autographs  are  rather  com- 
monplace. This  is  one: 

CAMDEN,  NEW  JERSEY,  Feb.  6,  81. 
MY  DEAR  J.  L.  G.,  — I  send  you  the  Carlyle 
piece  as  requested.  Mail  me  a  proof,  if  possible 
— if  Tuesday  forenoon,  I  can  return  it  Tuesday 
night.  If  not  possible,  pray  read  proof  with  extra 
care  by  copy.  It  ought  to  make  just  a  page.  I 
want  without  fail  fifty  impressions  of  just  that 
page.  It  can  easily  be  done  in  the  printing  office. 
Another  thing  I  forgot  to  mention  before  (&  per- 
haps is  not  strictly  needed  any  how)  I  reserve  the 
right  to  print  any  of  my  pieces  in  a  future  book, 
&  to  make  it  clearer  would  you  and  J.  B.  kindly, 
after  signing,  return  to  me  the  accompanying 

page?  WALT  WHITMAN. 

163 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  shall  again  transgress  my  inviolable  rule 
about  letters  of  living  men  only  to  quote  from 
the  novelist  who  is  to  me  a  mystery,  and  whose 
ultimate  place  in  English  letters  is  to  many 
feeble  mortals  like  myself  a  problem  quite  be- 
yond our  depth  to  solve.  I  wish  that  he  had 
adopted  a  style  less  strange  and  crabbed. 

This  letter  was  written  by  George  Meredith 
a  good  many  years  ago: 

SEAFORD,  SUSSEX. 

SIR,  —  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  latest 
volume  of  poems,  and  in  doing  so  I  must  beg  your 
excuse  for  omitting  to  acknowledge  a  previous 
single  poem  forwarded  to  me  and  which  I  discover 
in  the  present  collection.  It  is  usual  in  such 
cases  to  say  what  we  do  like  and  not  what  we  don't 
like;  but  I  presume  a  sufficient  balance  in  you  to 
hear  both.  I  like  your  songs  and  baby-ballads 
very  much.  I  like  your  feeling  for  English  scenery 
and  remarkable  descriptive  power.  I  do  not  like 
your  idylls  (e.  g.  the  "  Boat  Race ")  because  both 
the  poem,  the  matter,  and  the  blank  verse  recall 
Tennyson  so  strongly,  and  one  expects  more  than 
imitation  from  you.  By  the  way,  the  giving  of  a 
daughter  to  the  conqueror  in  a  boat  race  is,  of 
British,  not  customary.  A  girl  might  give  her- 
self, but  for  a  papa  so  to  stipulate  implies  unpleas- 
ant paternal  contempt  for  the  lover's  physique 
and  a  sort  of  calculation  seldom  made,  I  fancy. 
You  see  I  speak  freely.  It  seems  to  me  that  your 
taste  is  not  for  that  you  succeed  in  best,  viz :  minute 
description,  and  thus  you  might  produce  a  first 

164 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

rate  Dutch  home  story  in  ten  syllable,  eight  line 
or  six  line  verse ;  but  I  am  passing  my  boundary 
in  affecting  to  advise,  and  must  honestly  ask  you 
to  pardon  me  for  the  impertinence. 
I  am,  sir,  yours  very  faithfully, 

27th  April,  1857.  GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

That  was  undoubtedly  good  criticism,  uttered 
in  plain  and  comprehensible  English.  A  later 
letter  betrays  a  slight  sensitiveness  to  the  sever- 
ity with  which  some  of  those  merciless  fellow- 
countrymen  of  his  have  treated  him: 

^ 

Box  HILE,  DORKING. 
September  24th  1883. 

SIR, — Your  letter  can  but  be  taken  for  a  com- 
pliment. The  effect  of  public  disfavour  has  been  to 
make  me  indifferent  to  my  works  after  they  have 
gone  through  their  course  of  castigation,  and  I 
have  copies  of  only  a  few.  Vittoria  happens  to 
be  of  the  number,  but  my  children  are  now  getting 
old  enough  to  claim  what  can  be  preserved  of  them ; 
otherwise  I  would  send  it.  I  will  when  I  am  next 
in  town  see  whether  a  copy  remains  with  the  pub- 
lishers. Yours  very  truly 

GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

We  may  infer  from  this  reply  what  the  re- 
quest must  have  been.  It  was  surely  a  re- 
markable one,  deserving  of  a  less  dignified 
and  more  emphatic  refusal.  It  seems  that  au- 
tograph collectors  are  not  the  most  presump- 

165 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

tuous  of  bores,  and  that  book  collectors  may 
surpass  them  in  cool  audacity. 

A  very  different  sort  of  reply  is  that  which 
the  big,  earnest,  energetic,  and  often  wrong- 
headed  Reade  gave  to  some  petition: 

2  ALBERT  TERRACE 
KNIGHTSDRIDGE,  July  30. 

DEAR  SIR,— "Masks  &  Faces/' 

Authors  cannot  live  on  air.  This  piece  is  either 
stolen  or  begged.  It  is  never  played  on  terms 
remunerative  to  the  Proprietor. 

Whilst  this  still  exists,  I  am  compelled  to  re- 
fuse it  for  benefits.  Have  refused  it  to  six  this 
year. 

Moreover  at  Benefits  it  is  always  pitchforked 
on  to  the  stage  and  its  reputation  lowered.     See 
my  current  advertisement  in  The  Era. 
Yrs  truly 

CHARLES  READE 

No  one  can  help  liking  Charles  Reade,  with 
his  capital  letters,  his  newspaper  clippings, 
his  blundering  enthusiasms,  and  his  genuine 
power  and  fertility  of  expression.  He  scolded 
so  beautifully.  Somebody  had  been  exclaim- 
ing with  horror  at  A  Terrible  Temptation,  and 
he  writes — he  never  gives  the  year: 

The  American  press  has  treated  me  with  great 
insolence  and  scurrility,  but  a  writer  in  Canada 
has  gone  beyond  them  all  in  malignity  and  men- 
dacity, for  he  has  not  confined  himself  to  the  cur- 

166 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

rent  work  but  has  also  slandered  me  wholesale. 
I  have  therefore  singled  him  out  for  chastisement; 
and  as  much  I  have  said  to  him  is  also  an  antidote 
to  the  false  criticisms  of  American  iournalists 
under  which  I  suffer,  I  shall  appeal  to  your  sense 
of  justice  to  give  me  a  hearing  in  your  columns. 
I  enclose  my  reply  to  the  Canadian  or  British  liar 
and  shall  feel  obliged  if  you  will  publish  it  ad 
verbum  in  Every  Saturday.  .  .  . 


Looking  back  with  the  calmness  of  a  present 
generation  reviewing  the  works  of  its  prede- 
cessor, A  Terrible  Temptation,  while  perhaps 
open  to  criticism  in  some  respects,  compares 
very  favorably  with  much  of  the  unspeakable 
fiction  of  to-day.  It  was  certainly  over-violent 
to  call  it  "carrion  literature/'  as  it  was  styled 
in  some  of  our  journals  of  the  time. 


XI 

1  PURPOSE  to  write  the  history  of  England 
from  the  accession  of  King  James  the 
Second  down  to  a  time  which  is  within  the 
memory  of  men  still  living/'  Thus  does  Thom- 
as Babington  Macaulay  begin  his  History  of 
England.  "The  subject  of  my  narrative  is 
the  history  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  of 
America  from  the  close  of  the  war  for  indepen- 
dence down  to  the  opening  of  the  war  between 
the  States."  This  begins  John  Bach  Mc- 
Master's  History  of  the  People  of  the  United 
States.  "The  United  States  of  America  con- 
stitute an  essential  portion  of  a  great  political 
system,  embracing  all  the  civilized  nations  of 
the  earth."  Thus  does  George  Bancroft  in- 
troduce us  to  his  History  of  the  United  States 
of  America.  The  style  of  the  historian  is  fore- 
shadowed by  the  preliminary  sentence.  One 
can  foresee  that  McMaster  will  follow  Macaulay, 
and  that  the  eminent  American  scholar  and 
statesman  will  tread  his  own  pathway  with 
ponderous  footsteps. 

168 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Macaulay's  vivid  pictures  will  probably  live 
when  Bancroft's  stately  pages  are  buried  in 
oblivion,  for  Bancroft  gives  us  history  in  full- 
dress,  and  is  undeniably  dry.  He  is  not  re- 
markable for  research  or  accuracy,  and  when- 
ever any  controversy  arose  about  his  facts, 
he  generally  had  the  worst  of  it.  It  might  be 
said  of  him  as  Frederic  says  of  the  pirate  king 
in  the  "Pirates  of  Penzance":  "You  make  a 
point  of  never  attacking  a  weaker  party  than 
yourselves,  and  when  you  attack  a  stronger 
party  you  invariably  get  thrashed."  Ban- 
croft usually  got  thrashed,  notably  by  George 
Washington  Greene;  but  his  volumes  are  des- 
tined to  rest  among  those  "without  which  no 
gentleman's  library  is  complete/'  He  did  not 
mean  to  be  unfair  to  any  one;  he  was  a  schol- 
arly person,  very  well  satisfied  with  his  per- 
formances; and  he  was  justly  ambitious  to  be 
regarded  as  America's  principal  historian.  He 
was  sincerely  a  patriot,  a  lover  of  his  country, 
and  honorably  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the 
Republic.  A  letter  to  Justice  Swayne  indi- 
cates his  character : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  JUSTICE  SWAYNE,  — I  record 

with  equal  admiration  and  pleasure  the  clear, 
terse,  closely  reasoned  opinion  which  you  put  in 
my  hands  at  Washington,  and  think  it  a  master- 
piece, differing  widely  in  manner  from  the  loose 

169 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

style  of  some  famous  early  opinions.  I  have  now 
read  with  the  utmost  care  the  Tennessee  case, 
which  you  were  so  good  as  to  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  perusing.  I  discern  in  it  the  same  lucidity 
and  vigor  of  statement.  Yet  my  residence  in 
New  York  and  opportunities  of  observation  raise 
scruples  in  my  mind  on  the  point  at  issue.  It  was 
the  commonest  thing  for  selfish  politicians  of 
the  majority  of  the  legislatures  to  carry  bills  which 
sacrificed  the  public  interest  to  their  own  through 
the  Legislature  corruptly.  This  naturally  led 
me  to  wish  to  see  the  power  of  later  legislatures 
to  correct  abuses  maintained  as  much  as  possible 
in  unimpaired  strength  and  to  grudge  rogues  the 
right  which  they  claim  of  endowing  a  success 
gained  by  bribery  with  a  sacred  character  for  which 
it  might  instantly  claim  the  most  exalted  sanction. 
The  study  of  these  topics  has  for  me  the  greatest 
interest  and  I  am  in  perfect  sincerity. 

Yours  most  truly       GEQRGE  BANCROFT. 

While  we  are  conscious  of  the  fact  that  Punch 
is  not  overburdened  with  wit,  and,  like  Artemus 
Ward's  comic  paper,  might  be  "improved  by  a 
few  goaks,"  we  are  all  fond  of  Punch.  Tom 
Taylor  was  a  dreary  editor,  but  Mark  Lemon  was, 
and  Burnand  is,  of  a  different  order.  Mark  must 
have  been  beloved  by  all  his  staff.  He  writes : 

Aug.  27,  1856. 

MY  DEAR  P. , — I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that 

poor  dear  Gil l   is  better.     I  trust  in  God  that  he 

1  Gilbert  A'Beckett. 

IJO 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

may  recover.  When  you  can  leave  the  poor  old 
boy  come  home  and  bring  Douglas  with  you.  I 
am  so  anxious  about  you  all  that  it  will  be  a  posi- 
tive relief  to  know  you  are  at  home  again.  Look 
up  Douglas  and  S.  B.  and  say  to  them  what  I  have 
written.  Shirley's  boy  I  hear  is  out  of  danger, 
but  he  has  not  sent  a  line  as  tho'  we  did  not  care 
about  his  anxieties.  Write  by  return. 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

M.  L. 

Poor  A'Beckett  died  three  days  after  this  letter 
was  written.  He  worked  constantly  with  Mark 
Lemon,  Douglas  Jerrold,  and  Shirley  Brooks, 
a  strong  quartet  indeed.  His  Comic  History 
of  England  and  Comic  History  of  Rome  are, 
it  is  true,  somewhat  wearisome  to  read,  like  al- 
most all  comic  histories,  and  I  think  they  are 
bought  in  these  days  less  on  account  of  their 
elaborate  humor  than  because  of  the  Leech 
and  Cruikshank  illustrations.  His  letter  is 
rather  too  long  for  quotation.  I  have  tried 
not  to  burden  these  notes  with  long  quotations; 
but  as  a  New  York  magazine  some  time  ago 
considered  Mr.  William  Harris  Arnold's  letter 
from  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  to  Cornelius 
Mathews  worthy  of  publication,  reproducing  it 
from  Mr.  Arnold's  beautifully  printed  catalogue, 
a  portion  of  my  own  letter  from  the  poet  to  the 
same  Mr.  Mathews  may  be  found  worthy  of  peru- 
sal. I  do  not  think  it  has  ever  been  printed. 

171 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Mathews,  who  has  not  been  dead  many  years, 
was  a  voluminous  writer,  of  some  originality, 
whose  books  are  altogether  forgotten.  He 
was  the  first  American  editor  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
works,  and  must  have  had  her  highest  respect 
and  regard.  This  letter  is  dated  at  London, 
December  3,  1845.  It  refers  to  Browning, 
whom  within  a  year  she  married: 

It  is  with  shame  and  confusion  of  face,  my  dear 
Dr.  Mathews,  that  I  read  your  letter  and  remembered 
that  it  was  to  be  enunciated  of  me  "the  maid  is 
not  dead  but  sleepeth."  Nothing  but  being  actually 
dead,  I  do  humbly  confess,  could  justify  me  before 
my  own  conscience  and  your  sense  of  justice,  and 
so  there  is  nothing  for  me  (being  too,  too  much 
alive!)  but  to  creep  on  the  knees  of  a  contrite  soul 
to  the  back  door  of  your  mercy  and  to  pray  her  to 
be  at  home  to  me  and  let  me  in.  Will  you  or  can 
you  forgive  me? 

"  Not  dead?"  you  say — "  not  even  ill "  you  repeat 
— can  such  things  be  in  that  old  land  of  corruption, 
and  can  they  be  pardonable. 

Not  dead — not  even  ill — I  confess — nay,  shame- 
fully better,  I  am — shamefully  well  I  am — and  yet 
you  must  try  to  forgive  me — try  to  be  consoled 
for  this  handwriting  of  mine  in  the  proper  place 
of  that  of  my  executors. 

For  here  is  the  truth.  I  am  always  much  bet- 
ter when  it  is  summer,  my  complaint  being  weak- 
ness of  the  lungs,  and  for  several  summers  I  have 
made  progress  in  the  gross,  though  thrown  back 
every  winter  in  some  degree  on  the  spikes  again. 

172 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Did  you  ever  "do  the  sum"  about  the  snail  who 
crept  and  slipt  and  crept  and  slipt?  I  have,  both 
in  a  sum  and  in  an  experience.  Still,  in  this  last 
summer,  my  advances  were  very  large.  I  was 
quite  well  in  fact,  only  not  quite  strong  of  course, 
— able  to  go  out  in  the  carriage — able  to  get  into  the 
air  and  feel  "this  is  liberty  again" — and  then  I 
was  on  the  verge  of  an  expedition  to  Italy,  in  which 
to  hide  myself  from  this  winter — and  I  felt  that  if 
I  could  go  I  should  be  well  and  strong,  like  other 
enjoyers  of  the  world's  life — and  I  was  hindered  in 
the  going — it  was  too  full  a  benediction  for  such 
a  head  as  mine!  Well! — and  all  those  intentions 
and  hopes  and  emotions,  and  some  often  get  strong- 
er and  deeper,  absorbed  me.  It  was  as  if  an  oyster 
had  the  wings  of  an  eagle  and  lighted  on  Teneriffe 
— how  could  it  be  expected  to  think  any  more  of 
his  sand  bank — or  even  of  the  curlew's  cry  as- 
sociated with  his  former  immobility?  and  I,  who 
am  not  naturally  an  oyster  but  had  an  oyster's 
life  thrust  on  me — I  could  think  of  nothing  but  of 
the  new  budding  of  the  new  wings  —  but  of  the 
beating  of  my  own  heart — I  forgot  how  to  write 
or  read.  Try  if  you  can  understand — I  mean  to 
say  I  thought  of  nothing  long  enough  to  write 
it  down  in  letters  and  agree  to  engagements  on 
it.  I  could  think  of  you  sometimes.  I  could  think 
that  I  was  abominably  ungrateful  to  you  and  to 
some  others.  But  I  could  not  write.  I  read  your 
Abel  and  indeed  did  my  best  to  get  it  reviewed 
by  some  one  capable  of  entering  into  the  pe- 
culiar life  of  that  work.  They  answered  me  that 
it  was  all  in  vain  —  just  as  you  anticipated  — 
and  that  it  was  too  peculiar,  your  little  book,  too 

173 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

deeply  dyed  in  your  national  colours,  to  have  a 
hope  of  success  with  readers  here;  and  I  could 
understand  something  of  this  from  the  effect  of 
the  book  on  myself.  I  could  discern  the  talent, 
but  it  missed  its  hold  on  me  precisely  because 
there  was  a  want  of  the  necessary  American  stuff 
in  me  to  hold  by.  And  I  tell  you  this  of  your 
Abel  to  prove  how  I  have  not  been  utterly  self- 
absorbed — believe  me,  I  have  not.  Also,  if  ad- 
versity is  good  for  me,  I  am  now  restored  to  my 
prison  and  shut  up  as  of  old — not  ill,  but  forced,  on 
the  pain  of  being  ill,  to  keep  my  double  doors  shut 
doubly  and  my  windows  hermetically  sealed,  and  a 
fire  by  day  and  night — and  having  tasted  of  liberty, 
the  slavery  is  bitter.  I  shake  my  chains  impotently. 
Forgive  me  for  the  sake  of  that  piteous  sound! 

Now  —  your  first  charge  finds  me  innocent  — 
innocent!  /  never  received  Griswold's  Poets — 
never,  the  Southern  Quarterly — Columbian  Maga- 
zine &c  &c — never,  that  packet.  I  sent  repeated- 
ly to  Mr.  Putnam's,  naming  Griswold — and  the 
answer  has  always  been  "not  received."  Several 
newspapers  have  come  safely,  for  which  I  have 
silently  thanked  you.  I  had  the  remittance  safely 
too  from  Mr.  [Langley?]  and  take  shame  on  my- 
self for  not  acknowledging  it.  Will  you  be  so 
kind— but  no,  I  should  write  to  him  I  think  with 
my  own  hand.  I  was  very  well  satisfied  with  his 
report  of  the  poems,  and  grateful  to  you  all,  not- 
withstanding appearances.  As  to  the  proposition 
about  the  Prose  Miscellanies,  I  could  not  but  be  grat- 
ified by  it,  but  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  should 
be  averse  from  the  re-issue  of  those  Athenaeum  pa- 
pers without  a  complete  course  of  re- writing.  It 

174 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

has  frequently  been  urged  on  me  here  to  throw 
them  (enlarging  them  in  the  process)  into  the  shape 
of  publishable  chapters  on  English  poetry  and 
Greek  Christian  poetry;  and  if  Mr.  [Langley?] 
likes  to  give  me  time,  I  do  not  object  to  placing 
a  volume  of  miscellanies  from  the  source  designated, 
and  others,  in  his  hands.  But  should  they  not  be 
put  into  proof  in  London  and  then  transmitted? 
how  should  it  be?  You  amuse  me  when  you  say 
that  Mr.  Poe  has  dedicated  a  book  to  me  and  abused 
me  in  the  preface  of  it.  That  I  should  [say  was] 
Roman  justice,  if  it  were  not  American.  I  know 
him  for  a  writer  of  considerable  power.  And  now 
may  I  hope  without  audacity  to  hear  of  you  and 
of  your  doings?  I  am  a  penitent — believe  it  of  me. 
How  does  Big  Abel  succeed  in  his  land?  And  what 
are  you  engaged  on  at  present  ?  For  me,  I  have 
been  an  example  of  idleness,  as  you  may  gather. 
Mrs.  Butler  brings  to  England  "  a  good  report " 
of  American  life,  and  professes  an  intention  of 
growing  old  among  you  when  her  time  comes. 
In  the  meanwhile  she  does  not  think  of  returning 
to  the  stage  here,  but  rather  of  assisting  her  father 
in  his  Shakspearean  readings  by  which  he  makes 
some  sixty  pounds  a  week  already,  I  understand. 
Mr.  Browning  has  just  published  another  number 
of  Bells  and  Pomegranates,  in  which  his  great,  orig- 
inal faculty  throws  out  new  colours  and  expands  in 
new  combinations.  A  great  poet  he  is — a  greater 
poet  he  will  be — for  to  work  and  to  live  are  one  with 
him.  The  "  Flight  of  the  Duchess  "  in  his  last  num- 
ber, has  wonderful  things  in  it,  and  the  versifica- 
tion is  a  study  for  poets.  Walter  Savage  Landor 
has  lately  addressed  the  following  verses  to  him : 

175 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

"  To  ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"  There  is  delight  in  singing,  though  none  hear 
Beside  the  singer;  and  there  is  delight 
In  praising,  though  the  praiser  sit  alone 
And  see  the  praised  far  off  him,  far  above. 
Shakespeare  is  not  our  poet,  but  the  world's, 
Therefore  on  him,  no  speech ;  and  short  for  thee. 
Browning!     Since  Chaucer  was  alive  and  hale 
No  man  has  walked  along  our  roads  with  step 
So  active,  so  inquiring  eye,  or  tongue 
So  varied  in  discourse.     But  warmer  climes 
Give  brighter  plumage,  stronger  wing ;  the  breeze 
Of  Alpine  heights  thou  playest  with,  borne  on 
Beyond  Sorrento  and  Amain,  where 
The  siren  waits  thee,  singing  song  for  song/' 

Fine  generous  lines,  are  they  not?  and  never  a 
better  epithet  chosen  than  the  word  "hale"  for 
Chaucer?  Mr.  Tennyson  has  a  pension,  you  see 
— but  for  the  rest,  is  said  rather  to  smoke  than  to 
make  poems.  He  has  taken  a  whole  turret  to 
himself  in  the  "Castle  of  Indolence."  Dickens  is 
about  to  cast  himself  headlong  into  the  doubtful 
undertaking  of  the  new  daily  paper,  the  Daily 
News  I  The  opinions  against  success  are  many. 
It  is  a  great  object  to  combine  literature  and  civil 
philosophy,  both  of  the  highest  and  purest,  and  to 
give  the  man  of  letters  in  England  that  social 
status  which  on  the  Continent  is  secured  to  him. 
But  thinkers  have  observed,  first :  that  the  English 
people  will  not  have  democracy  in  a  journal  apart 
from  politics,  viz:  the  old  forms  of  party — that 
literature  will  not  be  permitted  to  keep  place  beside 
what  are  considered  in  this  country,  graver  ques- 

176 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

tions — and  that  lastly,  the  social  rank  of  men  of 
letters  must  be  given  by  society  when  it  is  ripe 
enough  to  discern  and  give,  and  cannot  be  snatched 
prematurely.  While  we  offer  dinners  and  me- 
morials to  a  railway  speculator  like  Hudson,  we 
are  not  in  a  .condition — our  hands  are  not  clean 
enough — to  invite  poets  across  our  thresholds. 
This  England  of  ours  is  behind  other  nations  in 
the  true  civilization.  I  cannot  choose  but  think  so. 
Dear  Mr.  Mathews,  let  me  have  your  forgiveness 
soon,  and  believe  in  the  continued  grateful  regard  of 
ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BARRETT. 

The  "penitence"  seems  to  be  a  little  overdone 
and  perhaps  spun  out  to  an  undue  "longevity/' 
as  Mr.  Evarts  might  have  said,  but  the  letter 
shows  the  traits  of  Mrs.  Browning's  intellec- 
tual character. 

It  is  difficult  for  me  to  tear  myself  away  from 
the  English  literature  "cases/'  I  have  just 
unearthed  this  odd  bit  of  Charles  Lamb,  written, 
as  are  so  many  of  my  letters,  to  Oilier,  the  au- 
thor-publisher : 

DEAR  OLLIER, — I  have  received  one  or  two  pres- 
ents of  books  from  authors,  which  I  can  only  return 
in  kind.  Can  you  let  me  have  3  or  4  copies  of  my 
works  for  that  purpose.  Yours  &c  C.  LAMB 

I  have  been  in  France. 
I  have  eaten  frogs. 
Poor  Percy  BisheM 
Have  you  done  with  my  old  copy  of  Don  Quixote  ? 

177 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  letter  bears  no  date,  but  it  was  undoubt- 
edly written  in  1822.  In  that  year  Lamb  went 
to  France  for  the  first  time,  and  visited  his 
friend  Kenney  at  Versailles.  Shelley  died  in 
July,  1822.  Lamb's  lament  is  certainly  not 
elaborate. 

The  thick  quarto  volume  which  is  always 
kept  in  the  best  bookcase,  which  corresponds  to 
the  "  spare  room "  in  our  old  country-houses — 
that  quarto  volume,  1  say,  with  its  hundreds 
of  closely  written  and  much-corrected  pages,  is 
the  manuscript  of  "  Barry  Cornwall's  "  Memoir 
of  Lamb.  In  it  is  inserted  a  characteristic  little 
note: 

Pray  let  Matilda  keep  my  newspapers  till  you 
hear  from  me,  as  we  are  meditating  a  town  residence. 

C.  LAMB 

Let  her  keep  them  as  the  apple  of  her  eye. 

So  much  has  been  said  and  written  about 
Lamb  and  the  Lambs,  so  many  Lives  and 
Memorials  have  been  published,  so  many  edi- 
tions printed,  that  the  subject  is  quite  exhaust- 
ed. To  most  men  of  the  day.  Lamb  is  more 
interesting  than  his  works.  The  rushing  tide 
of  new  volumes,  pouring  forth  from  the  pon- 
derous presses  of  the  present,  has  swept  away 
in  its  flood  those  productions  of  the  early  nine- 
teenth century  and  cast  them  into  the  peace- 

178 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ful  "coves"  or  alcoves  of  the  quiet  libraries, 
where  they  rest  undisturbed  upon  the  shelves 
until  by  chance  some  curious  student  dis- 
lodges them,  or  some  reminiscent  gentleman  of 
middle  age  desires  to  recall  the  memories  of 
Elia. 

I  remember  a  certain  household  in  my  early 
childhood  where  there  were  but  few  books,  but 
they  were  good  books;  and  they  were  read 
many  times  from  cover  to  cover.  They  were 
"books  for  children"  in  the  best  sense;  not 
the  showy,  much-illustrated  concoctions  of  the 
modern  type,  but  books  to  make  children  think 
and  yet  to  amuse  them.  The  Essays  of  Elia 
was  the  favorite  in  this  small  library,  and  one 
of  the  children,  I  know,  will  never  forget  his 
memorable  first  meeting  with  the  delicious 
"Dissertation  on  Roast  Pig/'  That  person 
finds  it  impossible  to  forgive  the  old  growler, 
Thomas  Carlyle,  for  his  useless,  cruel,  and 
spiteful  sneer  at  poor  Charles  Lamb. 

My  manuscript  of  "Barry  Cornwall's"  Me- 
moir indicates  here  and  there  the  advantages  of 
careful  revision.  For  example,  in  the  preface 
Procter  referred  to  his  work  as  "  these  desultory 
labours  of  an  amateur  in  letters/'  but  this  was 
excised  during  the  proof-reading,  for  it  does  not 
appear  in  the  printed  book.  It  was  rather 
too  self-depreciatory,  for  Bryan  Waller  Procter 

179 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

was  far  from  being  "an  amateur  in  letters." 
In  1866,  when  this  preface  was  written,  he  was 
seventy  -  eight,  and  he  had  been  addicted  to 
literature  for  at  least  half  a  century.  He  is 
an  agreeable  figure  in  his  day  and  generation. 
Even  our  gruff  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle, 
called  him  "a  decidedly  rather  pretty  little 
fellow,  bodily  and  spiritually "  —  something 
which  the  sage  of  Chelsea  certainly  was  not. 
It  is  true  that  Procter  was  a  conveyancer,  and 
a  successful  one  at  that,  but  a  man  who  has 
published  a  half-dozen  volumes  of  poems,  a 
tragedy,  several  biographies,  and  two  or  three 
books  of  tales  and  essays,  may  scarcely  expect 
to  be  regarded  as  merely  an  amateur.  But 
Procter  was  really  a  modest  creature.  There  is 
a  letter  relating  to  his  Essay  on  Shakespeare, 
a  work  which  Mr.  Sutton,  his  biographer  in  the 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  considers  to 
be  the  most  valuable  of  his  prose  writings : 

4  GRAY'S  INN  SQUARE. 
2ist  Oct.,  1843. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to 
accept  a  little  Essay  of  mine  on  Shakspere.  It 
has  plenty  of  defects,  but  I  have  so  much  faith 
in  your  kind  disposition  towards  me  that  I  think 
you  will  see  as  few  of  them  as  you  conscientiously 
can.  I  beg  you  to  believe  me  to  be,  dear  sir, 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

B.  W.  PROCTER. 
180 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  Lamb  Memoir  is,  however,  the  most  de- 
lightful thing  he  ever  gave  to  the  world,  and 
the  best  of  the  many  sketches  of  the  life  of  the 
gentle  humorist.  "  Brevity,  perspicuity,  grace- 
ful clearness;  then  also  perfect  veracity,  gen- 
tleness, lovingness,  justness,  peaceable  candour 
throughout;  a  fine,  kindly  sincerity  to  all  com- 
ers, with  sharp  enough  insight  too,  quick  rec- 
ognition graphically  rendered — all  the  qualities 
in  short  which  such  a  book  could  have,  I  find 
visible  in  this/'  Thus  writes  the  crabbed  old 
Scotchman  of  Cheyne  Row,  after  reading  the 
Memoir,  to  his  friend  Barry — a  very  different 
tone  from  that  of  the  "pretty  little  fellow"  re- 
mark made  so  patronizingly  years  before.  But 
Thomas  had  just  lost  his  wife  and — he  was  sev- 
enty-one. Even  a  Scotchman  may  be  softened 
by  age  and  misfortune. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  scold- 
ing because  Dickens  gave  to  Harold  Skimpole, 
in  Bleak  House,  some  of  the  characteristics  of 
Leigh  Hunt.  Hunt's  friends  were  indignant, 
but  their  anger  was  not  justified.  The  cap  did 
not  fit  exactly,  because  the  little  peculiarities 
of  Hunt  which  were  attached  to  Skimpole  were 
only  innocent  mannerisms  after  all,  except  pos- 
sibly the  ignorance  of  financial  matters,  which 
with  Hunt  was  real  and  with  Skimpole  pretend- 

181 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ed.  No  one  ever  dreamed  of  giving  to  Hunt 
the  bad,  dishonest  traits  of  the  airy  Harold. 
I  think  that  there  is  no  more  attractive  man  of 
letters  of  his  generation  than  James  Henry 
Leigh  Hunt.  He  was  a  cheerful  and  amiable 
writer,  with  a  delicate  fancy;  a  handsome  man, 
charming  socially;  with  simple  tastes  and 
master  of  a  fascinating  style.  "He  led  a  sin- 
gularly plain  life.  His  customary  drink  was 
water,  and  his  food  of  the  plainest  and  simplest 
kind;  bread  alone  was  what  he  took  for  luncheon 
and  supper/'  He  writes  to  our  friend  Oilier: 

HAMMERSMITH,  April  23,  '59. 

MY  DEAR  OLLIER,  —  As  you  tell  me  through 
Edmund  that  you  cannot  write  just  now,  I  have 
consented,  like  a  dutiful  correspondent,  to  receive 
the  information  at  second  hand,  looking  to  be- 
loved olcL  June  to  bring  me  my  revenge;  for  how 
it  is  theft  you  leisurely  gentlemen,  and  possessors 
of  fine  sets  of  teeth,  undertake  to  be  ill  in  this  in- 
competent manner,  and  expect  a  semi-toothless 
chap  like  myself — ergo,  one  full  of  pains  and  in- 
digestion—  to  continue  to  write  nevertheless  as 
if  he  were  not  suffering  under  a  hundred  incom- 
petencies  of  his  own,  is  what  I  cannot  very  well 
discover.  However,  write  I  do,  and  shall  until 
you  resume  your  pen.  Meantime  I  shall  come  and 
see,  for  myself,  why  you  don't,  as  speedily  as  I  can. 
As  the  enjoj^ment  of  nature  and  her  beauties  has 
so  long  been  a  common  property  between  you  and 

1  Alexander  Ireland. 
182 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

me,  I  must  tell  you  of  a  singularly  charming  flower 
which  though  I  am  told  it  has  been  long  in  Eng- 
land, was  hitherto  unknown  to  me  and  the  name 
of  which,  I  believe,  is  Dielytra.  It  blooms  into  the 
shape  of  as  complete  a  heart  (the  ideal  beauty) 
as  you  ever  saw,  holding  (as  if  in  care)  the  germ 
underneath  it  in  what  turn  out  to  be  two  arms. 
As  the  flower  (which  is  rose-colour)  increases,  it 
expands,  as  a  heart  should  do;  and  in  the  course 
of  this  expansion  (observe  this  pretty  symbolical 
process)  the  two  arms  gradually  turn  up  and  be- 
come a  kind  of  pair  of  wings  as  if  to  set  the  heart 
rising  to  heaven.  Fond  of  flowers  as  I  am,  and 
full  of  intion  [sic]  as  I  believe  all  of  them  to  be, 
beyond  what  is  known  to  us,  I  really  think  this 
is  the  most  interesting  flower  I  ever  met  with. 
Dielytra  means  double-spurred,  but  this  does  not 
do,  the  two  mysteries  justice ;  so  I  call  it  the  Winged 
Heart,  and  order  you  and  every  body  else  to  do  the 
like;  and  thus,  you  see,  I  can  give  my  orders  as 
well  as  yourself,  when  I  am  in  the  mind.  Dear 
Oilier,  orderly  or  disorderly,  I  am  ever 
Yours  most  affectionately 

LEIGH  HUNT. 

It  is  something  to  have  written  over  one  hun- 
dred novels,  even  if  only  sixty-seven  of  them 
have  contrived  to  find  a  place  in  the  British 
Museum,  and  also  a  vast  number  of  Lives 
and  Memoirs;  it  is  something  to  have  done 
all  this  in  a  lifetime  of  less  than  sixty  years; 
it  is  something  to  have  been  burlesqued  and 
parodied  by  the  great  Thackeray.  This  is 

183 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

what  was  accomplished  by  George  Payne 
Rainsford  James,  who  seems  to  have  had  as 
troublesome  an  experience  with  the  critics  as 
the  more  profound  and  philosophic  Meredith, 
according  to  his  letter  to  Oilier.  He  writes, 
from  Willey  House,  near  Farnham,  Surrey, 
on  July  26,  1848: 

MY  DEAR  OLLIER,  — I  do  not  suppose  that  I 
shall  be  in  town  for  a  few  days  and  I  think  in  the 
meantime  it  would  be  better  to  send  me  down  the 
sheets  with  any  observations  you  may  have  to 
make.  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  cut,  carve,  alter, 
and  amend  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  The  "  sum  " 
can  only  be  described  as  "  Heaven,  Hell  and  Earth/' 
or  if  you  like  it  better,  "Upstairs,  downstairs,  in 
my  Lady's  Chamber."  But  I  suppose  neither  of 
these  descriptions  would  be  very  attractive  and 
therefore  perhaps  you  had  better  put  "The  Sky, 
the  hall  of  Eblis,  South  Asia."  When  it  maketh 
its  appearance  you  had  better  for  your  own  sake 
take  care  of  the  reviewing ;  for  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  with  the  critics  at  least,  my  name  attached 
to  it,  is  likely  to  do  it  more  harm  than  good,  un- 
less friendly  hands  undertake  the  reviewing.  The 
literary  world  always  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  ac- 
count which  naturalists  give  of  the  birds  called 
Puffs  and  Rees  (?)  which  alight  in  great  bodies 
upon  high  Downs  and  then  each  bird  forms  a 
little  circle  in  which  he  runs  round  and  round. 
As  long  as  each  continues  this  healthful  exercise 
on  the  spot  he  has  first  chosen,  all  goes  on  quietly  ; 
but  the  moment  any  one  ventures  out  of  his  own 

184 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

circle,  all  the  rest  fall  upon  him  and  very  often  a 
general  battle  ensues.  I  wish  you  could  do  any- 
thing for  my  book  Gowrie  or  the  King's  Seal.  I 
have  a  good  deal  of  money  embarked  in  it. 

Yours  faithfully, 

G.  P.  R.  JAMES. 

Thackeray  begins  his  "Barbazure :  by  G.  P.  R. 
Jeames/'  with  this  sentence:  "It  was  upon  one 
of  those  balmy  evenings  of  November  which 
are  only  known  in  the  valleys  of  Languedoc 
and  among  the  mountains  of  Alsace,  that  two 
cavaliers  might  have  been  perceived  by  the 
naked  eye,  threading  one  of  the  rocky  and 
romantic  gorges  that  skirt  the  mountain  land 
between  the  Marne  and  the  Garonne/'  It  is 
unfortunate  for  the  memory  of  poor  James 
that  he  should  be  forever  linked  with  that  famous 
"two  horsemen"  introduction.  I  have  often 
thought  of  invading  some  library  and  making 
actual  count  of  the  number  of  times  in  which 
the  pair  of  equestrian  gentlemen  served  to  open 
the  story.  The  truth  is  that  there  was  much 
good  and  little  harm  in  those  well-written  ro- 
mances, and  if  some  of  our  popular  tales  could 
be  utterly  destroyed,  and  the  novels  of  James 
read  in  their  place,  the  world  might  be  consid- 
erably the  better  for  it 


XII 

THE  life  of  Napoleon  III.  is  a  strange  story, 
full  of  interest  and  scarcely  less  romantic 
than  a  Zenda  tale.  Whether  we  take  our  views 
of  his  character  from  the  scathing  pages  of 
Kinglake  or  from  the  more  kindly  chronicles 
of  Archibald  Forbes,  we  must  acknowledge 
the  existence  of  some  mysterious  power  in 
him,  united  with  extraordinary  weakness.  A 
prince  of  the  house  of  Bonaparte,  exile,  prisoner, 
President,  Emperor,  and  again  an  exile;  pass- 
ing long  and  weary  years  in  foreign  lands, 
sometimes  in  poverty  and  distress;  giving  to 
France,  when  he  was  her  sovereign,  much  that 
was  good,  and  yet,  in  many  ways,  doing  much 
that  was  harmful  to  the  country  which  he 
really  loved;  he  is  one  of  the  puzzles  of  his 
generation,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  enig- 
ma of  his  nature  will  ever  be  satisfactorily 
solved. 

A  letter  from  Count  d'Orsay  in  1848  reveals 
some  of  the  embarrassments  under  which  Louis 
Napoleon  was  struggling  just  before  the  Rev- 

186 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

olution  of  that  year.     It  was  written  to  Jerdan, 
the  celebrated  editor  of  the  Literary  Gazette  : 

GORE  HOUSE 

24  June,  1848. 

MY  DEAR  JERDAN,  —  I  never  was  more  sur- 
prised than  in  reading  your  note  to  the  article 
from  your  French  correspondent  relative  to  Prince 
Louis  Napoleon.  How  a  person  so  candid  and 
delicate  with  regard  to  meddling  in  the  private 
affairs  of  individuals  could  refer  to  the  pecuniary 
ones  of  Prince  Louis  does  astonish  me — were  you 
better  acquainted  with  him  and  his  circumstances 
you  would  not  have  written  the  note  to  which  I 
refer.  Confiding  in  your  discretion,  I,  who  am 
perfectly  au  fait  of  his  position  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  Of  the  large  fortune  bequeathed  to  Prince 
Louis  by  his  father,  the  late  ex-King  of  Holland, 
he  has  only  as  yet  been  able  to  realize  a  small 
portion,  owing  in  the  first  instance  to  the  machina- 
tions of  Louis  Philippe  exercised  with  the  sovereigns 
in  Italy  to  prevent  the  Prince  from  going  there  to 
look  after  his  affairs,  or  to  take  possession  of  the 
fortune  left  him.  Since  then,  the  troubles  in  Italy 
retarded  again  the  completion  of  different  sales 
which  have  taken  place,  and  a  very  large  sum 
which  is  to  be  paid  to  him  here  has  been  delayed. 
Owing  to  this  circumstance  he  wished  to  raise  some 
money  here,  to  maintain  the  punctuality  of  his 
engagements  for  which  he  has  been  through  life 
proverbial.  Amongst  those  engagements  are  the 
liberal  pensions  he  allows  to  many  old  friends  and 
dependents  of  his  deceased  parents.  I  can  answer 
on  my  honour  that  he  never  sent,  or  intended  to 

187 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

send  one  penny  for  political  purposes  to  France, 
and  if  you  had  read  his  letter  of  resignation  you 
would  have  seen  that  he  did  so  from  indignation 
at  the  report  that  he  had  bought  his  popularity. 
Believe  me,  yours  very  truly, 

CTE  D'ORSAY. 

D'Orsay,  the  handsome  and  attractive  "  dan- 
dy "  of  the  day,  painter,  sculptor,  and  squire-in- 
waiting  to  Lady  Blessington,  was  a  favorite  of 
Louis  Napoleon's.  The  "most  accomplished 
gentleman  of  our  time/'  as  Lord  Lytton  called 
him,  had  a  wonderful  capacity  for  contracting 
pecuniary  obligations  which  he  was  unable  to 
satisfy;  a  sort  of  aristocratic  Micawber  he  was, 
with  what  the  late  Collis  P.  Huntington,  re- 
ferring to  a  well-known  personage,  termed  "a 
chronic  habit  of  betting  on  the  wrong  horse"; 
and  he  was  glad  to  seek  refuge  with  his  friend, 
"  the  Prince-President/'  in  1849.  That  faithful 
friend  would  have  made  him  Minister  to  Han- 
over but  for  the  opposition  of  his  own  minis- 
try; and  he  actually  did  appoint  him  "Director 
of  the  Fine  Arts."  Soon  after,  with  all  his 
debts  and  accomplishments  upon  him,  D'Orsay 
passed  away  at  the  early  age  of  fifty-one,  hav- 
ing no  doubt  in  that  brief  time  lived  a  cen- 
tury. 

This  note  of  Prince  Napoleon  indicates  an 
interest  in  typography : 

188 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Le  prince  Napoleon  desirerait  que  M.  Colburn 
lui  envoyat  un  specimen  des  differens  caracteres 
employes  dans  son  Imprimerie. 

3  Juin,  1839 

17  CARLTON  HOUSE  TERRACE. 

We  have  seen  one  of  his  "  Lizzy  "  letters,  and 
here  is  another  one  which  throws  a  strong  light 
upon  the  imperial  English: 

TUILERIES,  le  8  Fev.  1853. 

DEAREST  LIZZY,  —  Allthough  our  lifes  are 
changed,  my  affection  for  you  will  be  the  same, 
and  I  hope  you  will  allways  rely  on  me  as  on  your 
best  and  most  affectionate  friend. 

Yours  sincerely, 

NAPOLEON. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  detect  one  of  the  elements 
of  rottenness  in  the  structure  of  that  rococo 
empire  which  tumbled  into  ruins  at  the  first 
strong  blow  from  the  stalwart  arm  of  Prussia. 

It  will  not  do  for  me  to  linger  among  these 
relics  of  departed  imperialism.  They  tell  us 
that  we  are  growing  too  "imperialistic"  in 
this  republic  of  ours,  because  we  are  trying  to 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain  somewhere  in 
the  far  East,  where  autographs  are  unknown 
— the  result  of  a  war  at  which  we  were  all  very 
much  astonished  when  we  suddenly  found 
ourselves  in  the  thick  of  it,  and  in  which  we 
"fumbled"  badly  until  we  warmed  up  to  the 

189 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

game.  It  is  the  old  story  over  again  of  every 
nation  which,  after  a  generation  of  peace,  goes 
to  fighting  with  an  army  educated  by  dress- 
parades  and  savage  tribes.  It  was  so  with 
our  great  neighbor  oversea  when  she  under- 
took to  chastise  the  Boers.  It  was  so  with  her, 
too,  in  the  outset  of  the  Crimean  War,  as  any 
one  may  see  who  will  read  Kinglake's  graphic 
accounts  of  the  wretched  work  there  when 
England  was  endeavoring  mightily  to  pour 
forth  all  her  great  resources  in  aid  of  her  army 
in  southern  Russia,  but  with  astounding  in- 
capacity to  accomplish  any  adequate  result. 
The  blundering  and  confusion  can  scarcely 
be  described.  Medical  stores  were  left  to  decay 
when  men  were  dying  by  thousands  for  want 
of  them.  "Great  consignments  of  boots  ar- 
rived, and  were  found  to  be  all  for  the  left  foot/'1 
There  were  frauds  in  the  contracts  for  preserved 
meats — "canned  beef"  was  not  original  with 
us.  "One  man's  preserved  meat/'  exclaimed 
Punch,  "is  another  man's  poison."  It  was 
then  that  Florence  Nightingale,  the  daughter 
of  a  wealthy  Englishman,  won  her  fame  by 
her  wise  and  efficient  development  and  manage- 
ment of  the  hospitals  and  the  force  of  trained 
nurses ;  and,  as  Justin  McCarthy  says,  the  Ge- 
neva Convention  and  the  bearing  of  the  Red 

1  McCarthy's  History,  ii.  234. 
190 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Cross  are  among  the  results  of  her  work  in  the 
Crimea. 

How  our  thrifty  English  brothers  thereafter 
sought  to  avail  of  her  as  an  advertisement  ap- 
pears from  this  letter,  which  is  quite  pathetic  : 

July  28,  1890. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — Many  thanks  for  your  most 
kind  letter.  I  regret  that,  as  you  will  perceive 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  been  an  overworked 
invalid  for  more  than  30  years  and  for  many, 
many  years  almost  entirely  a  prisoner  to  my  rooms 
from  illness,  there  is  not  the  smallest  chance  of 
my  being  able  to  see  your  Balaclava  charge  tho' 
there  is  nothing  I  should  like  better.  I  am  very 
sorry,  as  you  wish  to  have  my  name,  that  I  must 
adhere  to  my  poor  old  rule  not  to  give  it.  But  I 
am  none  the  less  deeply  interested  in  your  under- 
taking.— And  I  say  God  bless  all  my  old  comrades 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Pray  believe  me  faith- 
fully and  hopefully  yours,  and  wishing  you  the  high- 
est success.  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Even  that  cold-hearted,  unimaginative  per- 
son who  sees  in  an  autograph  letter  only  a 
fragment  of  faded  paper  with  irregular  tracings 
of  ink,  and  cannot  comprehend  the  sensations 
of  the  collector  when  he  realizes  that  he  has 
before  him  the  actual  handiwork  of  the  great 
man  who  made  those  tracings,  will  sometimes 
grant  us  the  concession  that  there  is  a  merit 
about  a  book  which  has  "associations."  I 

191 


Meditations  o£  an  Autograph  Collector 

cannot  explain  why  this  is  so;  perhaps  he  thinks 
he  could  write  a  better  letter  himself,  whereas 
he  knows  that  he  could  not  make  a  book,  and 
the  book  has  a  tangible  quality,  a  sort  of  solid 
reality  about  it  which  appeals  to  his  materialistic 
nature.  I  find  that  I  can  always  arouse  a 
gleam  of  intelligence  when  I  show  this  person 
such  a  book,  while  he  will  turn  a  dull,  lack- 
lustre eye  upon  a  precious  letter  of  John  Keats, 
or  one  of  Alexander  Pope,  or  even  a  page  of 
Dean  Swift  or  Samuel  Johnson.  In  my  own 
few  volumes  of  this  kind,  there  is  a  field  for  very 
pleasant  meditation — pleasant,  at  least,  to  me. 
They  are  not  many,  and  when  I  pore  over  some 
of  those  catalogues  I  sigh  and  envy. 

That  faded  morocco-bound  cap-octavo  is  an 
English  edition  of  Poe's  Poems,  edited  by  James 
Hannay ;  with  no  date  in  it,  after  the  abominable 
custom  of  some  English  publishers;  containing 
some  of  the  most  execrable  of  illustrations,  in- 
cluding one  of  a  wretchedly  elongated  being 
in  a  dressing-gown  delivering  an  oration  to  an 
impossible  crow  perched  on  an  incredible  bust. 
But  it  has  on  a  fly-leaf  these  lines :  "  Given  to 
Mrs.  Benzon, — partly  on  account  of  the  poetry, 
partly  on  that  of  the  dedication  at  page  33, 
with  all  affectionate  wishes  of  Robert  Browning, 
March  7,  67."  The  dedication  on  page  33  reads : 
"To  the  noblest  of  her  sex, —to  the  author  of 

192 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

'The  Drama  of  Exile/— to  Miss  Elizabeth  Bar- 
ret Barret,  of  England,  I  dedicate  this  volume, 
with  the  most  enthusiastic  admiration  and  with 
the  most  sincere  esteem.  E.  A.  P."  So  we 
have  the  record  of  Browning's  appreciation 
of  our  "  original  genius/'  the  meteor  who  flashed 
so  brightly  and  who  fell  so  ignobly;  and  a  loving 
memory  of  the  woman  whose  name  and  fame 
are  linked  so  closely  with  his  own. 

There  is  a  book  near  it,  which  Tout  has  dressed 
in  a  delicate,  greenish  levant,  almost  reconciling 
one  to  the  loss  of  the  original  covers.  I  wonder 
why  people  persist  in  destroying  the  old  bind- 
ings, which  are  as  much  a  part  of  the  book's 
being  as  the  printed  pages  themselves.  It  is 
called  Epistles  to  a  Friend  in  Town,  Golconda's 
F$te,  and  other  Poems,  by  Chandos  Leigh  Esq., 
and  bears  the  date  "1826."  On  the  title- 
where  no  one  should  ever  write,  on  pain  of  exile 
from  the  world  of  good  books — are  the  words, 
in  Lamb's  familiar  hand,  "Chas.  Lamb — the 
gift  of  the  author."  Leigh,  who  became  Lord 
Leigh  later  on,  seems  to  have  produced  a  quantity 
of  verse  in  rather  feeble  imitation  of  his  school- 
fellow Byron,  tempered  by  occasional  reminis- 
cences of  Pope.  He  begins  his  Epistles  : 

How  many  years  are  gone  since  first  we  met 
In  Town!  the  day  is  well  remembered  yet. 

13  193 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

They  did  a  good  deal  of  this  sort  of  thing  in 
the  early  years  of  the  last  century,  and  called  it 
"poetry/'  I  cannot  find  that  Leigh  was  at 
all  intimate  with  the  Lambs;  he  was  the  son  of 
a  wealthy  M.P.,  and  consorted  more  with  lords. 
His  chief  distinction  is  that  he  was  named 
after  his  father,  and  Charles  Lamb  wrote  his 
autograph  in  my  book. 

I  cannot  imagine  what  Carlyle  could  have 
been  doing  with  a  Hebrew  Grammar  in  1828; 
but  then  I  am  never  astonished  at  anything 
about  Carlyle.  This  shabby  little  book — Brevis 
Introductio  ad  Grammaticam  Hebraicam  et 
Chaldaicam,  printed  "Glasguae,  1721,"  has 
on  its  face,  plainly  written,  "  Thomas  Carlyle, 
1828."  It  is  said  that  it  came  from  the  library 
of  an  old  gentleman  in  Dumfries  who  asserted 
that  it  was  one  of  several  books  which  Carlyle 
had  given  to  him  in  his  college  days.  I  never 
took  the  trouble  to  investigate,  for  I  learned 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  dead,  which  seemed 
to  preclude  further  inquiry.  It  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  very  carefully  studied,  and  its 
pages  are  surprisingly  clean  when  one  con- 
siders that  it  is  nearly  two  centuries  old. 

No  lover  of  books  can  help  being  attracted 
by  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd— a  sound  lawyer, 

194 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

an  eminent  Justice  of  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas,  friend  and  faithful  editor  and  biographer 
of  Lamb,  author  of  Ion :  a  Tragedy,  and,  best 
of  all,  the  original  of  the  immortal  Traddles! 
Ion  was  produced  on  May  26,  1836,  Talfourd's 
forty-first  birthday,  and  it  met  with  instant  and 
brilliant  success.  All  the  sergeants  -  at  -  law 
went  in  a  body,  in  compliment  to  their  fellow- 
sergeant,  and  it  is  said  that  they  sat  in  one 
box,  except  Mr.  Sergeant  Wilde  (afterwards 
Lord  Truro),  who  had  a  box  for  himself  and 
his  family.  Whether  they  wore  their  wigs 
and  gowns  is  not  recorded,  but  it  must  have 
been  an  imposing  sight,  albeit  the  worthy 
lawyers  were  undoubtedly  uncomfortable  un- 
less the  box  was  unusually  large.  My  copy 
of  Ion,  a  demy-octavo  in  faded  half-calf,  is  of 
the  first  edition,  1836,  by  Edward  Moxon,  and 
there  is  inserted  in  it  this  letter,  written  to  Moxon 
on  that  eventful  first  night: 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — Will  you  send  me  two  copies 
of  Ion  by  the  bearer?  and  will  you  sup  with  me 
after  the  play  of  this  evening,  in  Russell  Square? 

Yours  faithfully, 

TEMPLE,  T.  N.  TALFOURD. 

Thursday,  26th  May. 

Miss  Mitford  says  that  Talfourd's  head  was 
quite  turned  by  vanity  upon  the  success  of 
Iont  but  I  do  not  believe  it.  It  is  not  in 

195 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

accordance  with  his  kindly  disposition  and 
amiable  character.  I  do  not  put  much  confi- 
dence in  the  assertions  of  that  smug  old  maid. 
Did  she  not  write  this?1 

What  disenchanting  things  these  autographs 
are !  When  I  was  at  Clifton  my  friend  Mr.  Johnson 
brought  to  show  Miss  James  some  American  sig- 
natures. .  .  .  Amongst  them  was  a  correspond- 
ent of  General  Washingtons.  Washington  was  a 
Virginian,  remember,  and  they  are  all  horse-jock- 
eys, .  .  .  and  this  series  of  letters  from  the  great 
patriot  contains  as  notable  an  endeavor  to  "  do  "  an 
acquaintance  in  the  sale  of  an  English  horse  as 
ever  figured  in  the  annals  of  Newmarket.  I  have  no 
great  fancy  for  the  celebrated  personage  in  question. 
He  was  much  too  cold  and  calculating  for  me. 

And  then  she  admits  having  begged  the  auto- 
graph of — Daniel  0' Connell — for  "  a  great  man  " 
she  thinks  him — and  the  only  other  thing  she 
wants  is  a  signature  of  Napoleon !  It  seems  to  me 
that  this  lady's  testimony  is  pretty  successfully 
impeached.  We  find  her  writing  (May  30, 1836)  : 

Talfourd  thinks  no  praise  half  enough;  talks 
still  of  acting  the  part  himself  at  a  small  theatre; 
and  would  be  capable  of  buying  tickets  to  fill  the 
house  for  a  week  provided  he  could  in  that  way 
keep  it  going  for  that  time  at  Covent  Garden. 
You  have  no  notion  of  our  poor  friend's  tremendous 
inflation.  ...  Of  me  he  is  furiously  jealous. 

1  Life  of  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  ii.  282. 

196 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

It  is  not  difficult  to  see  which  one  of  the  two 
was  "  jealous. "  The  poor,  conceited,  self-compla- 
cent little  woman  betrays  the  truth  in  every  line. 
And  not  so  very  long  afterwards  we  find  her 
begging  a  frank  from  "  Mr.  Sergeant  Talfourd." 
But  any  one  who  would  accuse  George  Wash- 
ington of  trying  to  cheat  a  man  in  a  horse-trade 
is  capable  of  almost  anything. 

I  observe  that  Mr.  Warwick  Wroth,  in  his 
article  on  Miss  Mitford  in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography,  refers  to  the  production 
of  her  tragedy  of  Rienzi  at  Drury  Lane  in 
1828,  where  it  was  acted  thirty-four  times,  and 
vsays:  "Its  success  caused  a  temporary  cool- 
ness between  Miss  Mitford  and  her  friend  Tal- 
fourd,  who  fancied  that  his  Ion,  which  was 
being  performed  at  the  same  time,  was  un- 
duly neglected  through  Renzi's  popularity/' 
As  Ion  was  not  produced  until  nearly  eight 
years  later,  Mr.  Wroth  must  be  mistaken. 

Of  this  supper,  to  which  Moxon  was  invited, 
Crabbe  Robinson  says:1 

May  26th.  — With  a  party  of  friends  —  Words- 
worth, Landor,  my  brother,  the  Jaffrays  &c  &c — 
I  attended  the  first  performance  of  Talfourd's 
Ion  at  Covent  Garden.  The  success  complete. 
Ellen  Tree  and  Macready  were  loudly  applauded, 
and  the  author  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied. 

1  Diary,  iii.  96. 
197 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

After  the  performance  he  gave  a  supper,  largely 
attended  by  actors,  lawyers,  and  dramatists.  I  sat 
by  Miss  Tree,  and  near  Miss  Mitf ord.  "  Talf ourd's 
health "  was  given  by  Macready,  whose  health 
Talfourd  proposed  after  returning  thanks. 

Macready  gives  a  detailed  and  interesting 
account  of  this  same  evening1  which  is  too 
long  for  quotation.  But  it  is  worth  noting  that 
at  supper  at  the  Garrick  Club  a  week  later 
"Talfourd  replied  to  the  encomiums  passed 
on  him  with  great  animation,  alluding  to  his 
early  love  for  the  drama,  his  interest  for  Miss 
Mitford,  and  his  friendship  for  me  [Macready] 
whom  he  eulogized  very  warmly/'  So  that 
while  this  small-minded,  envious  "female" 
was  chattering  to  her  friends  about  Talfourd's 
"jealousy"  of  her — "so  inflated  with  vanity 
and  so  bitter  with  envy  " — Talfourd  was  sound- 
ing her  praises  and  testifying  to  his  apprecia- 
tion of  her  merits.  Before  we  say  good-bye  to 
the  lady,  let  her  speak  for  herself  in  her  letter 
to  B.  R.  Haydon,  which  is  postmarked  "  1820  ": 

THREE  MILE  CROSS— 

Wednesday. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — Enclosed  you  will  find  a 
good  scolding  for  Mary  Anne.  Pray  don't  keep 
her  if  she  does  not  suit — don't  keep  her  a  moment 
out  of  compliment  to  her  sister  or  myself.  Hen- 

1  Reminiscences,  ii.  31.  3  Id.  ii.  36. 

198 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

rietta  is  quite  enraged  at  her  ill  conduct.  So  am  I. 
I  rejoice  to  hear  what  you  say  of  your  historical 
commissions.  But  don't  give  up  portraits  yet! 
Beat  them  out  of  their  yell!  Make  them  recant! 
You  can  and  you  will  if  you  go  on.  Miss  James 
says  of  mine  "  That  it  is  a  very  finely  painted  pict- 
ure, strikingly  like  and  with  an  expression  that 
none  but  you  would  have  known  how  to  have 
given"  —  at  once  the  truth  and  most  forcible. 
What  a  capital  description  of  the  Gymnastics! 
You  are  such  a  man !  Do  tell  me  what  Fuseli  said 
of  Wilkie.  It  shall  be  safe  upon  honour.  Very 
sorry  for  Ugo  Foscolo,  I  don't  very  well  know  wrhy 
though  for  there  was  more  of  pretence  than  real- 
ity in  any  of  his  doings  that  I  ever  saw.  Fuseli 
is  a  loss.  I  am  very  anxious  about  poor  Mr.  Bay- 
ley's  play  which  is  coming  out  tonight.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  friend — have  had  visitor  upon  visitor 
till  I  have  not  a  moment  to  spare  and  I  wish  Mary 
Anne  to  get  her  sister's  lecture  as  soon  as  may  be. 
Say  everything  for  us  to  your  dear  and  lovely  wife. 
Ever  most  faithfully  yours 

M.  R.  MlTFORD. 

The  papers  say  that  Mr.  Macready  is  bringing 
out  a  play  of  Mr.  Knowles.  If  so  he  has  served  a 
certain  Captain  Smith  as  ill  as  he  has  me !  He  is 
a  pretty  fellow !  Once  again  my  dear  friend,  God 
bless  you  I 

The  absence  of  a  date,  the  presence  of  a  post- 
script, and  the  spiteful  fling  at  Macready  are 
quite  characteristic.  She  seldom  had  a  good 
word  for  any  one  who  did  not  flatter  her  con- 
tinuously. 

199 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

There  is  something  sad  in  the  story  of  Thomas 
Campbell,  whose  life  opened  with  such  bright 
promise  and  closed  in  clouds  and  gloom.  The 
Pleasures  of  Hope  made  him  famous  at  twenty- 
one.  The  duodecimo,  dressed  in  cracked  old 
calf,  whose  pages  I  am  turning,  is  of  the  fifth 
edition,  published  in  Edinburgh  in  1801.  Upon 
the  back  of  the  dedication  Campbell  has  written : 
"  To  his  sister  Mary  Campbell  from  the  author. 
It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  say  with  what  cord- 
ial affection  the  giver  presents  this  token  of 
esteem/'  As  we  glance  rapidly  over  the  pages 
our  eyes  catch  glimpses  of  old  friends — "The 
wolf's  long  howl  from  Oonalaska's  shore," 
"Warsaw's  last  champion  from  her  height 
surveyed,"  and 

Hope  for  a  season  bade  the  world  farewell 
And  Freedom  shriek'd — as  Kosciusko  fell! 

But,  with  the  exception  of  "Hohenlinden" — that 
"drum  and  trumpet  thing" — "Lochiel,"  and 
"Gertrude  of  Wyoming/'  with  a  few  lyrics,  his 
writings  decreased  in  merit  as  he  grew  older, 
and  degenerated  into  mere  hack-work.  Yet  he 
wrote  lines  which  will  always  live.  "Tis  dis- 
tance lends  enchantment  to  the  view,"  "Com- 
ing events  cast  their  shadows  before/'  "The 
sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky,"  bear 
out  the  remark  of  the  Quarterly  that  Campbell 

200 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

had  "acquired  the  immortality  of  quotation." 
All  these  familiar  verses  come  back  to  one  when 
he  stands  by  Campbell's  tomb  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  where  he  lies  near  to  Addison,  Sheridan, 
and  Charles  Dickens. 

The  translations  of  Dante  by  Henry  Francis 
Cary  and  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  are 
perhaps  the  best  of  the  blank-verse  form,  but 
they  seem  to  impart  an  overstrained  dignity  and 
stateliness  to  the  poems.  They  do  not  appeal 
to  me  in  any  way  as  much  as  the  version  of 
Thomas  William  Parsons,  who  successfully 
combined  the  somewhat  incongruous  pursuits 
of  literature  and  dentistry.  Parsons  translated 
only  the  Inferno,  the  complete  work  appearing 
in  1867.  The  first  ten  cantos  were  published 
in  Boston  in  1843  by  William  D.  Ticknor.  Par- 
sons attempted  but  afterwards  rejected  the 
triple  rhyme,  and  adopted  "the  stately  and 
solemn  quatrain,  the  stanza  of  Gray  and  of 
Dryden,"  because,  as  he  wrote,  "this  is  the 
nearest  approach  to  the  lengthened  harmony 
of  the  Italian  terza  rima  which  is  recognized 
by  English  ears/'  My  copy  of  this  first  edition 
is  inscribed  "To  Henry  Lord  Brougham  and 
Vaux,  with  the  humble  regards  of  the  Transla- 
tor, Boston,  U.  S.  A/'  It  is  further  endeared 
to  me  by  a  letter  which  I  was  fortunate  enough 

201 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  find  a  few  years  ago,  soon  after  Par  sons' s 
death.  It  is  one  of  those  appreciative  letters 
of  Holmes,  and  I  am  glad  that  it  has  found  a 
resting-place  between  the  covers  of  my  book : 

164  CHARLES  ST. 
Sept.  12,  1867. 

MY  DEAR  [PARSONS],  — I  have  received  the 
beautiful  volume  and  though  I  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  read  it  through,  I  have  read  enough  to  ap- 
preciate the  skill  and  the  poetical  beauty  with  which 
you  have  finished  your  translation.  It  is  a  great 
honor  to  our  city  and  country  and  a  proof  of  the 
rapid  growth  of  our  culture  that  two  such  versions 
as  your  own  and  Longfellow's  should  be  given 
to  the  public  in  the  course  of  the  same  year.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  each  will  render  the 
other  more  interesting.  The  difficulties  of  the  text 
are  so  great  that  two  or  three  independent  ren- 
derings of  it  will  be  most  acceptable  to  all  the  more 
interested  and  less  profoundly  instructed  class  of 
readers.  But  I  do  not  wonder  at  these  words, 
"Tantus  labor/'  To  keep  so  close  to  the  text  and 
yet  to  turn  it  into  harmonious  and  idiomatic  Eng- 
lish verse  was  a  task  which  might  well  keep  you 
busy  for  years.  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  get  honor 
and  I  hope  profit  for  your  faithful  and  admirable 
performance. 

I  am  reminded  that  I  had  your  name  on  one 
of  my  proof-sheets  a  day  or  two  ago  in  connection 
with  a  less  important  but  still  a  pleasant  literary 
effort.  Somewhere,  many  years  ago  —  perhaps 
in  Putnam's  Magazine, — you  gave  a  wonderful 
description  of  the  smell  of  election  day  or  Inde- 

202 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

pendence  day  on  the  common.  I  was  referring 
to  that — your  name  was  actually  before  me  on  my 
table  when  the  volume  came. 

I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  beautiful  gift.     I 
thank  you  for  this  new  and  noble  addition  to  our 
literature.     I  thank  you  for  [all]  that  you  have 
done   in   literature,    including    poems    which   for 
tenderness,   grace,   music   and   finished   art   may 
rank  with  the  best  of  our  or  any  other  period. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  [Parsons], 
Faithfully  yours, 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

I  find  in  the  Century  for  October,  1901,  an 
article  on  Parsons  by  Maria  S.  Porter,  in  which 
this  letter  is  given  in  full,  with  a  few  trifling 
verbal  variances;  and  the  author  says  that  she 
is  "the  fortunate  possessor  of  it."  I  think  she 
is  mistaken,  and  that  she  has  a  copy.  At  all 
events,  my  letter  is  dated  "  1867 "  and  hers 
"1869."  Parsons  published  his  translation  in 
1867,  and  it  is  not  likely  that  Holmes  would 
write  of  it  as  a  recent  work  two  years  after  its 
production.  In  my  letter  the  name  "Parsons" 
has  been  erased,  as  if  the  owner  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  efface  it  before  giving  the  letter 
to  some  friend.  The  puzzle  is  interesting  to  a 
collector,  but  doubtless  to  no  one  else. 

The  queer,  fat  little  volume  in  old  blue  moroc- 
co, printed  in  London  by  John  Field  in  1653,  is 
Sarah  Siddons's  Bible,  which  she  presented  to 

203 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

James  Ballantyne  with  her  autograph  inscrip- 
tion; and  Ballantyne  gave  it  to  Christina  Ho- 
garth, the  sister  of  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens,  adding 
his  autograph  also.  It  is  a  singular  history, 
and  one  cannot  help  feeling  a  sort  of  reverence 
for  a  book  which  has  passed  through  such  hands. 

There  remains  one  more  book  of  "associa- 
tions "  to  be  inspected  before  we  close  the  chap- 
ter—  Theodore  Hook's  copy  of  Shakespeare. 
I  have  been  spelling  the  name  "Shakespeare" 
according  to  the  varying  notions  of  others,  and 
I  am  now  spelling  it  to  suit  myself.  This 
is  the  Chiswick  edition,  in  one  small  volume, 
printed  by  C.  Whittingham  in  1823,  in  the 
finest  of  type — so  fine  that  it  might  almost 
be  a  Bronte  manuscript.  Hook  evidently  dis- 
covered that  it  lacked  what  every  book  deserving 
the  name  should  always  have — an  index — and 
he  has  written  one  on  a  blank  leaf,  in  his  own 
easily  deciphered  handwriting.  There  are  also 
two  curious  pen-and-ink  sketches,  representing 
a  gentleman  and  a  lady  of  the  middle  nine- 
teenth century,  so  arranged  that  when  the  pages 
are  folded  the  parties  appear  to  be  stout,  even 
corpulent,  but  when  the  sketches  are  unfolded 
the  subjects  present  themselves  lean  and  emi- 
nently "genteel/'  I  do  not  care  very  much  for 
this  volume,  because  there  is  nothing  attractive 

204 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  me  about  Mr.  Theodore  Hook.  He  may  have 
been  a  wit ;  he  certainly  made  it  a  profession  to 
be  funny ;  but  he  was  guilty  of  perpetrating  what 
are  known  as  "practical  jokes/'  a  most  vulgar 
and  repulsive  form  of  supposed  humor.  After 
reading  the  accounts  of  some  of  his  exquisite 
feats  of  coarseness  and  brutality,  one  is  not 
surprised  to  know  that  Hook  was  a  shameless 
defaulter,  who  grossly  betrayed  an  important 
public  trust.  The  kindly  Lockhart  attempted 
to  say  a  good  word  for  him,  but  was  compelled 
to  own  that  he  lacked  "  every  quality  especial- 
ly characteristic  of  a  high-minded  man."  Fort- 
unately his  ephemeral  productions  are  all  for- 
gotten, and  if  it  were  not  for  occasional  mention 
in  contemporary  "diaries"  and  "memoirs/'  the 
name  of  the  author  would  be  buried  in  like 
obscurity. 


XIII 

IT  may  not  be  generally  known,  but  I  an- 
nounce it  with  pardonable  pride,  that  the 
autograph-manuscript-collecting  cult  is  one  of 
the  most  ancient  in  the  world  and  is  almost  coeval 
with  historic  man.  I  am  not  aware  that  it  was 
prevalent  in  the  Stone  Age,  but  it  certainly 
existed  among  the  Greeks  in  the  palmy  days 
of  their  civilization.  It  is  related  that  the  third 
Ptolemy  refused  to  supply  the  starving  Atheni- 
ans with  wheat  unless  he  was  allowed  to  borrow 
the  original  manuscripts  of  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles, 
and  Euripides,  in  order  that  he  might  make 
copies  of  them.  Ptolemy  gave  his  royal  Egyp- 
tian word  that  they  should  be  safely  returned, 
and  deposited  fifteen  talents  as  security.  The 
value  of  the  talent  varied  so  much  from  time 
to  time  that  I  do  not  know  how  much  of  our 
currency  this  amount  would  represent,  but  we 
will  call  it  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Ptolemy 
made  his  copies,  and  then,  like  any  enterprising 
and  unscrupulous  collector,  kept  the  originals 
and  sent  back  the  transcripts,  cheerfully  for- 

206 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

feiting  the  fifteen  talents.  This  was  what  one 
might  call  a  "forced  sale/'  but  I  think  I  should 
have  done  the  same  thing.  It  served  the  Athe- 
nians right,  for  they  ought  to  have  starved  be- 
fore parting  with  their  autograph  manuscripts. 
I  never  lend  and  I  never  borrow.  I  do  not  bor- 
row, because  I  know  the  temptation;  and  I  do 
not  lend,  because  I  know  the  infirmities  of  our 
kind. 

Cicero  was  an  enthusiastic  collector,  as  were 
also  the  Consul  Mucianus  and  Libanius  the 
Sophist.  The  younger  Pliny  tells  us  of  a  fine 
autographic  "  deal "  which  the  elder  Pliny  might 
have  made  if  he  had  possessed  a  mercantile 
instinct.  I  wish  I  knew  what  became  of  all 
their  collections.  No  doubt  they  were  destroyed 
when  the  Alexandrian  Library  was  burned, 
for  that  convenient  fire  accounts  for  the  dis- 
appearance of  almost  every  pre-existing  papyrus 
which  cannot  now  be  found.  All  this  informa- 
tion, and  much  more  of  the  greatest  value,  the 
inquiring  student  will  find  in  Scott  and  Davey's 
elaborate  Guide  to  the  Collector,  which  was 
published  in  London  in  1891.  With  this  record 
before  us,  we  are  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
assertion  of  Mr.  Frederick  Netherclift — or,  per- 
haps, it  is  the  outgiving  of  one  Richard  Sims, 
"of  the  British  Museum,"  who  "edited"  a 
Hand  Book  to  Autographs,  published  in  1862 

207 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

—  that  the  taste  for  collecting  autograph  writ- 
ings is  "generally  believed  to  have  originated 
in  Germany,  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century"!  All  that  I  have  to  say  about  that 
statement  is  that  the  man  who  will  believe  it 
will  believe  anything. 

A  good,  well  -  authenticated  manuscript  of 
Sophocles  or  of  Euripides  would,  no  doubt, 
command  a  very  fair  price  at  a  Bangs,  Libbie, 
or  Henkels  sale.  But  we  must  give  up  such 
dreams  and  be  content  with  more  modern  treas- 
ures, whose  genuineness  is  beyond  question. 
We  are  not  to  be  imposed  upon,  like  poor  M. 
Chasles,  the  first  geometrician  of  France,  if 
not  of  the  world,  who  let  Vrain-Lucas  palm 
off  on  him  a  multitude  of  fabrications,  including 
three  letters  from  Cleopatra  to  Cato,  one  from 
Lazarus  after  his  resurrection,  and  one  from 
Judas  Iscariot  to  Mary  Magdalene — all  on 
paper  and  in  the  best  of  French! 

It  is  a  modest  collection,  but  we  know  that 
each  specimen  is  exactly  what  it  purports  to  be, 
and  a  few  of  them  may  deserve  consideration. 
The  pretty  little  volume,  whose  full  brown  mo- 
rocco covers  and  red  edges  are  profusely  orna- 
mented with  the  golden  fleur  de  lys  of  France,  is 
the  Manuscrit  Autographe  de  Mme.  de  Main- 
tenon  et  de  Melle  Daumale,  consisting  of  In- 

208 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

structions  Spirituelles  donnees  a  Mme.  de  Main- 
tenon  et  a  la  Duchesse  de  Bourgogne  par  leurs 
Directeurs  de  Conscience.  There  are  fifty-nine 
pages  in  the  bold  and  almost  masculine  hand- 
writing of  Madame,  written,  it  would  appear, 
in  or  about  March,  1691,  and  more  than  a  hun- 
dred pages  in  the  smaller  and  more  feminine 
characters  of  Mademoiselle.  Most  of  the  latter 
seem  to  be  intended  for  the  edification  of  "  Ma- 
dame Marie  Adelaide  de  Savoy e,"  who  became 
the  wife  of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne,  Louis  XIV/s 
grandson. 

It  must  have  been  extremely  gratifying  to 
the  learned  and  virtuous  "directors  of  con- 
science/' this  addressing  of  moral  platitudes 
and  grave  homilies  to  the  mistress  of  the  Grand 
Monarch.  The  admonitions  to  the  Duchess 
were  indited  in  1696,  the  year  in  which  the 
little  Italian  princess,  at  the  age  of  eleven, 
came  to  France  to  marry  the  Duke,  who  had 
then  attained  the  maturity  of  thirteen  years. 
The  Princess  left  a  gracious  memory  behind 
her,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  her  bad 
old  son  Louis  XV.  This  small  book  of  "  Avis/7 
"Dialogue/'  and  "Spiritual  Instructions"  is 
probably  a  product  of  the  institution  of  St.  Cyr 
— "a  girls'  school,  a  convent  for  young  ladies 
of  rank,  and  a  good  work  and  recreation  for 
Mme.  de  Maintenon,"  as  Saint -Beuve  calls  it. 

'4  209 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  cannot  quite  make  out  who  the  little  "Melle 
Daumale"  was  who  acted  as  scribe  for  her 
Royal  Highness,  but  I  know  that  she  must  have 
been  little  because  her  handwriting  is  so  dainty. 
Some  time  when  I  have  abundant  leisure  I 
will  toil  through  those  interminable  memoirs 
of  the  period  of  Louis  Quatorze  and  perhaps 
I  may  discover  her.  She  could  not  have  been 
the  Mile.  Daumale  who  married  the  King  of  Por- 
tugal, for  that  event  occurred  long  before  I69I.1 

When  Tom  Moore  was  exiled  in  Paris,  on 
account  of  the  defalcation  of  that  rascally  deputy 
of  his  in  Bermuda,  he  began  a  poem  which  he 
intended  to  call  "Alciphron."  It  was  one  of 
the  pleasing  customs  of  that  day  to  give  to  a 
popular  literary  man  a  shameless  sinecure,  an 
office  whose  duties  he  was  expected  to  neglect 
systematically,  while  he  drew  the  salary  with 
commendable  regularity.  All  things  have  their 
compensations,  and  robbery  by  assistants  was 
the  usual  drop  of  bitterness  in  the  cup  of  ease. 
Moore  fled,  but  his  affairs  were  finally  settled 
by  Lord  Lansdowne,  and  the  poet  acted  most 
honorably.  As  to  the  poem,  he  found  it  un- 

1  My  friend  Mr.  F.  Wheeler,  of   Aumale    to   the    Due    de 

of  London,  tells  me  that  he  is  Maine,     and     it     descended 

sure  that  she  was  a  daughter  through  a  granddaughter  of 

of  the  Due  de  Maine.     Louis  the    Due    de    Maine    to   the 

XIV.  presented  the  territory  House  of  Orleans. 

210 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

satisfactory,  and  he  converted  it  into  his  single 
serious  prose  fiction,  The  Epicurean,  which  was 
given  to  the  world  in  1827.  The  edition  of  1839, 
which  Turner  illustrated,  has  the  "Alciphron" 
added  in  an  appendix. 

This  manuscript  of  The  Epicurean,  which  is 
kept  on  the  top  of  the  old-fashioned  cabinet 
in  the  north  corner,  has  been  clothed  by  Riviere 
in  a  becoming  but  not  gaudy  dark-green  levant, 
and  it  is  evidently  that  which  passed  through 
the  hands  of  the  printers.  It  is  not  the  manu- 
script of  the  whole  book.  There  are  211  pages 
in  the  edition  of  1839,  and  this  "copy"  begins 
at  page  47,  ending  abruptly  at  page  194.  It 
shows  on  its  face  that,  however  smooth  and 
easy  the  flow  of  Moore's  style  may  be,  he  correct- 
ed much  and  altered  much  as  he  wrote. 

It  is  amusing  to  observe  the  delightful  self- 
complacency  with  which  the  little  man  chronicles 
in  his  Diary  all  the  nice  things  which  were  said 
to  him  about  his  "novel";  how  Lord  John 
Russell  liked  it  greatly,  but  was  "  sorry  he  had 
not  made  a  poem  of  it " ;  how  Lady  Georgina 
wept  profusely  at  its  pathos ;  how  Lord  Strang- 
ford  praised  it — Tommy  "dearly  loved  a  lord/' 
He  received  from  the  Longmans  still  more  sub- 
stantial marks  of  appreciation — to  wit,  more 
than  £700 — and  the  little  romance  seems  to  have 
been  translated  into  several  foreign  languages. 

211 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

To  be  candid,  it  appears  to  us  to  be  rather 
poor  stuff.  Taine  calls  it  "a  poetic  Egyptian 
tale/'  and  there  is  much  in  it  which  may  be 
considered  picturesque,  but  it  would  find  no 
readers  to  -  day.  Moore  was  not  a  scholar, 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  manners  of  the  time 
which  he  attempted  to  portray  was  altogether 
superficial,  while  he  was  wholly  ignorant  of 
the  philosophy  which  his  hero  was  supposed 
to  represent.  T.  L.  Peacock  scored  him  un- 
mercifully in  the  Westminster,  of  which  no 
mention  is  made  in  the  Diary,  while  a  lauda- 
„  tory  article  in  Blackwood  is  suitably  acknowl- 
edged. 

In  this  venture  the  amiable  poet  went  a  little 
beyond  his  depth.  He  was  best  in  what  Mrs. 
Oliphant  styles  his  "confectionary  composi- 
tions/' and  in  the  writing  of  words  to  music. 
The  Irish  Melodies  were  his  masterpieces,  and 
his  National  Melodies  are  not  to  be  slighted. 
That  large,  thin  quarto,  which  Bedford  has 
bound  in  a  painfully  ugly  light-green  morocco, 
contains  some  of  the  National  Melodies,  with 
autograph  words  and  music  in  part  by  Moore — 
"'Tis  the  Vine/'  "My  harp  has  one  unchang- 
ing theme/'  "Love  and  Hope,"  "I've  a  secret 
to  tell  thee,"  and  other  compositions  equally 
profound  and  soul-stirring.  I  will  not  guarantee 
that  the  music  is  in  Moore's  handwriting,  for  it 

212 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

may  be  in  that  of  Henry  Bishop,  who  arranged 
it.  Pearsons  say  it  is  Moore's,  and  I  never 
doubt  Pearsons;  if  I  did,  I  should  be  drifting 
helplessly  from  my  moorings. 

Tom  Moore  was  a  domestic  fellow,  fond  of  his 
wife  and  family,  posing  in  verse  as  a  naughty 
man;  a  singer  who  sang  entrancingly  without 
any  voice  worthy  of  the  name;  and  a  poet  who 
wrote  charmingly  with  very  little  of  the  divine 
spark  of  genius.  Almost  everybody  liked  him, 
and  that  was  the  main  secret  of  his  vogue. 
His  life  was  a  happy  one,  except  in  the  closing 
years,  when  misfortune,  for  which  he  was  in  no 
way  to  blame,  shadowed  the  end  of  his  career. 

This  manuscript  of  Southey's  "Curse  of 
Kehama"  contains  the  entire  poem  in  auto- 
graph, excepting  part  xxii.,  "The  Gate  of 
Padalon,"  and  part  xxiv.,  "The  Amreeta." 
Southey  wrote  a  singularly  graceful,  elegant 
hand,  altogether  literary  in  its  character,  as 
might  be  expected  of  one  whom  Byron  called 
"the  only  existing  entire  man  of  letters."  It 
has  no  trace  of  the  scrivener  or  engrosser,  and 
yet  it  is  thoroughly  legible.  The  manuscript 
is  quite  free  from  erasures  and  interlineations, 
but  the  author  seems  to  have  experienced  some 
changes  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  introductory 
verses,  the  stately  overture — 

213 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Midnight,  and  yet  no  eye 

Thro'   all  the  Imperial   City  clos'd  in  sleep, 

Behold  her  streets  ablaze 

With  lights  that  seem  to  kindle  the  red  sky, 
The  myriads  roaming  thro"  the  crowded  ways! 

Robert  Southey  was  a  most  industrious  man, 
noble,  generous,  and  high-minded.  He  de- 
ceived himself  as  to  the  greatness  of  his  epics, 
which  he  thought  would  make  him  immortal — 
those  "great,  decorative  machines/'1  "Madoc," 
"Thalaba,"  "Kehama,"  "Roderick."  His  ver- 
sification was  largely  of  his  own  invention, 
and  violated  all  precedent.  "Kehama"  was 
the  best  of  his  long  poems,  became  popular  in 
its  day,  and  presents  a  glowing  and  ornate 
view  of  the  Hindoo  mythology.  He  began  it  in 
1 80 1,  under  the  title  of  "Keradin,"  but  aban- 
doned it  for  a  time,  finally  bringing  it  forth 
in  1810.  He  himself  said  of  it:  "Few  persons 
will  like  'Kehama.'  Everybody  will  wonder 
at  it:  it  will  increase  my  reputation  without 
increasing  my  popularity.  A  general  remark 
will  be,  what  a  pity  I  have  wasted  so  much 
power." 

Crabbe  Robinson  records  what  Charles  Lamb 
said  of  it  after  the  first  reading.  Lamb  liked  it 
better  than  any  of  Southey's  long  poems.  The 
descriptions  he  thought  beautiful,  particularly 

1  Taine. 
214 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  finding  of  Kailyal  by  Ereenia.  He  liked 
the  opening  and  part  of  the  description  of  hell, 
but,  after  all,  he  was  not  made  happier  by  read- 
ing the  poem.  "There  is  too  much  trick  in  it. 
The  three  statues  and  the  vacant  space  for 
Kehama  represent  a  pantomime  scene,  and 
the  love  is  ill-managed."  He  thought  it,  how- 
ever, infinitely  superior  to  "Thalaba."  Cer- 
tainly the  address  to  Love,  beginning, 

They  sin  who  tell  us  Love  can  die; 
With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 
All  others  are  but  vanity, 

is  a  noble  passage,  deserving  of  remembrance. 
I  could  never  understand  why  Southey  should 
have  chosen  as  a  motto  for  his  "  Kehama  "  the 
rather  undignified  saying,  "Curses  are  like 
young  chickens:  they  always  come  home  to 
roost/'  To  be  sure,  he  had  it  turned  into  so- 
norous Greek  by  Coleridge,  and  thus  inscribed 
it  (with  the  English  original),  upon  the  first 
page  of  the  book,  accrediting  it  to  an  apochry- 
phal  source:  ATTO<£#.  Avetc.  rov  Tv\ie\.  rou  MT;T. 
It  was  one  of  the  wise  saws  of  his  half-witted 
half  -  uncle,  William  Tyler,  who  was  a  sort  of 
playmate  of  his  boyhood,  and  whose  quaint 
speeches  lingered  in  his  mind  in  later  years. 
But  I  think  that  the  motto  is  not  quite  in  keep- 
ing with  the  epic. 

215 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

In  toiling  through  these  elaborate  pages  of 
East -Indian  lore  and  imagery,  one  cannot 
help  having  an  inclination  to  agree  with  Lamb 
when  he  said:  "I  never  read  books  of  travel, 
at  least  not  farther  than  Paris  or  Rome.  I  can 
just  endure  Moors  because  of  their  connexion 
as  foes  with  Christians:  but  Abyssinians, 
Ethiops,  Esquimaux,  Dervises,  and  all  that 
tribe  I  hate.  ...  I  am  a  Christian,  Eng- 
lishman, Londoner,  Templar." 

In  all  the  relations  of  life  Southey  was  ad- 
mirable, even  in  the  matter  of  answering  his 
correspondents.  Bourrienne  says  that  Napoleon 
let  all  letters  lie  unopened  for  six  weeks,  in 
which  time  most  of  them  had  been  answered 
by  events;  and  Mr.  Samuel  Jones  Tilden,  that 
most  modest,  amiable,  attractive,  and  unselfish 
of  American  politicians,  is  reported  to  have 
followed  this  example.  Coleridge,  according  to 
De  Quincey,  had  even  a  simpler  method;  he 
opened  none  and  answered  none.  But  Sou- 
they replied  to  every  letter  at  once  and  with- 
out a  moment's  delay,1  for  he  was  a  gentle- 
man, and  respected  the  feelings  of  others.  His 
kindly  nature  may  be  discerned  in  his  famous 
remark  that  a  house  is  never  perfectly  furnished 
for  enjoyment  unless  there  is  in  it  "a  child 
rising  three  years  old  and  a  kitten  rising  six 

1  Dowden's  Southey,  p.  122. 
216 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

weeks/'  Some  of  his  letters,  says  Dowden,  are 
written  "as  if  his  whole  business  in  life  were 
that  of  secretary  of  feline  affairs  in  Greta  Hall/' 
We  may  pass  by  his  "Thalaba,"  his  "Rod- 
erick/' and  his  "Kehama"  unread,  and  marvel 
at  his  infatuation  with  his  most  pretentious 
productions ;  but  the  man  who  wrote  the  "  Bat- 
tle of  Blenheim"  and  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
"Story  of  the  Three  Bears"— the  Great  Huge 
Bear,  the  Middle  Sized  Bear,  and  the  Small 
Wee  Bear  —  is  sure  of  a  lasting  place  in  the 
affections  of  all  English-speaking  people. 

Written  on  three  hundred  enormous  sheets  of 
blue  paper,  seventeen  inches  by  eleven,  bound 
in  "half -red  morocco  extra/'  is  the  manuscript 
of  a  novel  of  the  elder  Dumas — one  of  his  least- 
known  works,  called  by  the  undeniably  English 
name  of  Black.  It  is  the  story  of  a  dog,  and 
Black  is  the  name  of  the  spaniel  -  hero.  The 
book  is  signed  and  dated,  "  Fini  le  24  Novembre, 
a  5  heures  du  soir — A.  Dumas."  Whether  this 
is  one  of  the  numerous  tales  in  which  he  had 
the  aid  of  a  collaborateur,  I  know  not ;  but  if  he 
had,  he  at  least  did  his  own  transcribing,  for 
the  manuscript  was  all  written  by  the  same 
person,  and  that  person  the  one  who  signed  it. 
Next  we  come  upon  another  folio,  with  page 
on  page  of  the  essays  of  William  Hazlitt,  in- 

217 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

eluding  a  part  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Age.  It  is 
a  sadly  disorderly  scrawl.  This  paper,  "On 
Corporate  Bodies/'  begins  like  a  Populist  plat- 
form: "Corporate  bodies  are  more  corrupt  and 
profligate  than  individuals  because  they  have 
more  power  to  do  mischief  and  are  less  ame- 
nable to  shame  or  punishment."  A  disagree- 
able fellow  this  man  Hazlitt  must  have  been 
— selfish,  self-conscious,  suspicious,  and  easily 
offended;  quarrelling  with  almost  every  one; 
dogmatic  beyond  belief;  a  simpleton  about 
women;  constantly  devoured  by  an  ingrained 
ill-temper.  It  is  true  that  the  gentle-hearted 
Lamb  called  him  "in  his  natural  and  healthy 
state,  one  of  the  finest  and  wisest  spirits  breath- 
ing." We  can  pardon  the  false  figure  for  the 
generosity  of  the  tribute,  but  Hazlitt  must  have 
been  customarily  in  an  unnatural  and  an  un- 
healthy state.  In  his  wretched  Liber  Amoris 
he  presents  to  us  a  most  unpleasant  side  of  his 
character. 

Why  should  Wordsworth  have  made  a  prose 
version  of  the  "Faery  Queen"?  Here  are 
eighty-five  closely  written  folio  pages,  all  bear- 
ing at  the  top  the  date,  like  a  day-book,  be- 
ginning on  September  16,  1835,  and  ending  on 
September  30  in  the  same  year.  Most  of  the 
lines  slant  queerly  upward  from  left  to  right. 
It  scarcely  seems  to  have  been  worth  while 

218 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

for  a  man  of  sixty-five,  a  poet  with  enduring 
fame,  to  waste  valuable  time  on  such  a  task. 

The  autograph  collector  does  not,  as  a  rule, 
fare  very  well  at  the  hands  of  the  literary  person. 
It  is  true  that  old  Isaac  d' Israeli  gives  us  a  grave 
little  essay  on  "  Autographs  "  in  the  fourth  vol- 
ume of  his  Curiosities  of  Literature,  beginning 
with  this  solemn  utterance:  "The  art  of  judg- 
ing of  the  character  of  persons  by  their  hand- 
writing can  only  have  any  reality  when  the 
pen,  acting  without  restraint,  becomes  an  in- 
strument guided  by  and  indicative  of  the  nat- 
ural dispositions/'  But  he  confines  himself 
in  his  comments  to  a  few  of  the  sovereigns 
of  England.  Poe's  well-known  "Chapter  on 
Autography/'  degraded  at  the  outset  by  a  feeble 
kind  of  hoax,  made  him  a  few  additional  ene- 
mies, which  was  a  matter  of  little  consequence 
to  him.  He  says,  very  truly  but  not  very  strik- 
ingly :  "  The  feeling  which  prompts  to  the 
collection  of  autographs  is  a  natural  and  ra- 
tional one";  and  thereupon  he  proceeds  to 
discuss  the  handwriting  of  a  hundred  or  so 
of  his  contemporaries,  as  exhibiting  their  re- 
spective characters  —  showing  his  verdancy 
by  generally  choosing  only  signatures  for 
study.  He  succeeds  fairly  well  except  when 
he  yields  to  some  of  his  bitter  prejudices,  and 

219 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

then  he  thrusts  in  the  knife  and  turns  it  ruth- 
lessly. 

Tom  Moore  makes  just  complaint  of  one 
of  the  most  insidious  forms  of  autograph  hunt- 
ing. "The  application  to  me  for  autographs 
becomes  a  serious  nuisance/'  he  writes  in  No- 
vember, 1843,  "more  especially  in  its  new  form 
of  asking  questions ;  these  questions,  too,  being 
generally  such  as  one  can  hardly  in  common 
civility  decline  answering/'1  One  can  sym- 
pathize with  Moore  in  this  affliction,  but  we 
must  resent  the  sneer  of  a  charlatan  like  George 
Augustus  Sala,  who  takes  occasion  to  say: 

With  the  introduction  of  adhesive  postage 
stamps  and  cheap  postage  itself,  came  another 
great  revolution  in  the  national  correspondence. 
Peers  and  Members  of  Parliament  were  no  longer 
importuned  for  "  franks  " — being  their  autographs 
covering  the  cost  of  postage;  and  the  "frank 
hunter  "  practically  disappeared,  to  be  resuscitated, 
however,  in  another  incarnation,  as  the  present 
and  equally  objectionable  Autograph  Fiend.8 

Lowell  seems  to  have  begun  an  essay  on 
autographs,  but  he  did  not  complete  it,  as  it 
is  not  to  be  found  among  his  collected  works. 
He  speaks  of  it  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Godkin/  where 
he  says  that  he  was  "  drawn  off "  from  it,  and 

1  Diary,  vii.  355.  2  Sala's  Life  and  Advent- 

8  Letters,  i,  354.  ures>  P-  I2°- 

220 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

he  appears  not  to  have  been  drawn  back  to  it. 
This  is  unfortunate,  for  it  would  surely  have 
been  delightful  and  entertaining.  Lowell  him- 
self, however,  is  not  entirely  devoid  of  that 
leonine  affectation  which  the  great  author  as- 
sumes in  regard  to  the  collector.  He  writes 
to  Charles  Eliot  Norton  in  1885:' 

I  am  thinking  seriously  of  getting  a  good  forger 
from  the  state's  prison  to  do  my  autographs,  but 
I  suppose  the  unconvicted  followers  of  the  same 
calling  would  raise  the  cry  of  Convict  Labor. 

Again,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Leslie  Stephen,  he 
thus  unburdens  himself: 

When  you  tell  me  that  my  lovely  little  god- 
daughter has  been  supplied  with  an  autograph- 
book,  an  instrument  of  torture  unknown  even  to 
the  Inquisition,  you  make  me  shiver.  Albums 
they  used  to  be  called,  and,  after  exhausting  the 
patience  of  mankind,  hope  to  continue  their  abom- 
inable work  under  an  alias,  Stamm-biicher  the 
Germans  call  them  (who,  cunning  in  the  invention 
of  bores,  invented  this  also)  and  I  rather  like  the 
name,  because  stamm  has  an  imprecatory  sound 
and  rhymes  honestly  with  the  d — n  that  rises  to 
one's  lips  when  one  sees  a  specimen.8 

We  should  call  this  rather  strained  and  feeble 
fooling  if  any  one  of  less  consequence  than 
James  Russell  Lowell  had  written  it.  Very 

1  Letters,  ii.  301.  * Id.  ii.  348. 

221 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

differently  did  the  patient,  amiable  Longfellow 
behave,  when  he  sat  at  his  table  for  hours 
"writing  scores  of  autographs  for  far-away 
strangers/'  "Such  patience/'  says  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "might  spring  in  part  from  fondness 
for  even  undiscriminating  admiration;  but  it 
arose  still  more  from  unfailing  benignity  of 
nature/'  We  prefer  to  believe  that  it  was 
not  the  offspring  of  vanity.  "Yesterday"  (so 
runs  the  poet's  diary  for  January  9,  1857) 
"I  wrote,  sealed,  and  directed,  seventy  auto- 
graphs." 

All  these  things  considered,  it  is  something 
of  a  consolation  to  discover  that  an  author 
may  become  a  "fiend"  as  well  as  a  victim. 
We  have  seen  how  the  sensitive  Mary  Russell 
Mitford  cherished  her  O'Connell  signature,  her 
single  relic  of  the  fat  statesman  of  dubious 
patriotism,  whom  Sam  Warren  pillories  in 
Ten  Thousand  a  Year;  and  now  we  have  the 
gentle,  graceful,  painstaking  novelist  and  his- 
torian, Miss  Julia  Pardoe;  the  ladies  seem  to 
be  the  autograph  seekers.  I  wish  she  had 
written  her  signature  as  plainly  as  her  letter; 
I  am  not  quite  sure  of  the  initials.  She  writes 
to  Horatio  Smith  —  him  of  the  Rejected  Ad- 
dresses (usually  called  "Horace,"  but  why  I 
have  never  been  able  to  learn) : 

1  Life  of  Longfellow,  p.  157. 
222 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

19  WESTBOURNE  PLACE 
EATON  SQUARE,  27/9,  40. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  venture  to  intrude  on  you  with 
a  request  that  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  favor 
me  with  an  autograph  on  the  page  of  paper  which 
accompanies  this  note,  for  a  collection  which  I 
am  making,  and  of  which  I  am  now  about  to  have 
a  volume  bound  up,  and  if  you  would  further  oblige 
me  by  giving  me  a  few  lines  in  the  handwriting 
of  your  late  brother,  to  which  his  signature  is 
appended,  I  should  be  sincerely  indebted  to  you. 
Pardon,  I  pray  you,  this  duplicate  request,  for 
wh.  rny  best  apology  is  my  anxiety  not  to  omit 
any  celebrated  name  in  my  collection,  &  with 
compts  to  Miss  Smith,  believe  me  to  be 
My  dear  sir, 

Very  faithfully  yrs 

J.  V.  H.  PARDOE. 

James    Smith,   partner    in    the    Rejected  Ad- 
dresses, died  in  1839. 

I  hope  that  nobody  will  describe  my  amuse- 
ment as  "a  ladylike  pursuit/'  That  would  be 
a  blow  indeed.  It  is  strange  how  much  we  ad- 
mire the  womanly  but  detest  the  "  ladylike/'  I 
always  thought  that  it  was  cruel  of  Thackeray, 
when  he  heard  of  the  demise  of  the  good  Prince 
Albert,  to  exclaim,  "Poor,  dear  gentlewoman!" 

And  as  we  are  on  the  subject  of  women,  we 
may  as  well  read  what  that  sturdy,  hard-work- 
ing novelist,  the  mighty  Anthony  Trollope, 

223 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

with  his  regular  stint  of  so  many  lines  a  day 
and  his  microscopic  view  of  British  social  life, 
had  to  say  about  some  matters  of  feminine 
interest.  Some  one  had  evidently  been  calling 
the  bushy-bearded  story-teller  to  account  for 
some  utterance  which  Anthony  is  manifestly 
inclined  to  reaffirm  and  emphasize: 

4  April,  1879 
29  MONTAGUE  SQUARE. 

DEAR  SIR, — The  remarks  you  quote  were  made 
by  me.  You  say  that  it  would  be  dangerous 
to  interfere  with  "the  family  arrangement/'  I 
think  it  is  impossible  to  do  so  to  any  great  extent. 
You  cannot  by  Act  of  Congress  or  Parliament 
make  the  woman's  arm  as  strong  as  the  man's  or 
deprive  her  of  her  position  as  the  bearer  of  children. 
We  may  trouble  ourselves  much  by  debating  a 
question  which  superior  power  has  settled  for  us, 
but  we  cannot  alter  the  law.  To  avoid,  or  lessen 
that  trouble,  it  is  I  think  expedient  to  explain  and 
make  manifest  to  all,  the  facts  as  they  have  been 
settled  for  us  by  that  superior  power, — not  as  doubt- 
ing what  may  be  the  result.  The  necessity  of 
the  supremacy  of  man  is  as  certain  to  me  as  the 
eternity  of  the  soul.  There  are  other  matters  on 
which  one  fights  as  on  subjects  which  are  in  doubt, 
— universal  suffrage,  ballot,  public  education,  and 
the  like — but  not,  as  I  think,  on  these  two. 
Yours  faithfully 

ANTHONY  TROLLOPE. 

Trollope  did  himself  much  injustice  in  his 
Autobiography,  because,  in  his  whimsical  way, 

224 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

he  exaggerated  the  mechanical  side  of  his 
authorship.  He  conveys  the  impression  of  a 
sordid,  plodding  scribbler,  who  regarded  his 
work  as  analogous  to  that  of  the  butcher,  the 
baker,  and  the  shoemaker  —  the  work  of  the 
artisan  and  the  tradesman.  Those  who  con- 
sider with  intelligence  the  whole  of  his  Life, 
who  read  between  the  lines  and  are  capable 
of  discerning  the  truth,  regret  that  he  should 
have  given  to  the  undiscriminating  reader,  who 
accepts  everything  as  literally  true  in  the  pre- 
cise words  of  the  narrative,  ipsissimis  verbis, 
an  idea  of  Trollope's  character  and  intellectual 
power  which  is  altogether  erroneous.  I  am 
almost  in  accord  with  Mr.  Howells,  who  seems 
inclined  to  rank  him  with  Thackeray,  or,  indeed, 
as  the  superior  of  that  much  bepraised  producer 
of  fiction. 


XIV 

\  NUMERICALLY  considerable  portion  of 
-Z~~Y-  the  human  race  seems  for  some  mys- 
terious reason  inclined  to  spend  money  for 
books  of  "selections"  and  "extracts."  I  have 
often  wondered  whether  anybody  ever  really 
reads  such  compilations.  They  must  be  vend- 
ible, or  publishers  would  not  take  the  trouble 
to  produce  them.  I  have  been  foolish  enough 
to  buy  a  few  of  them,  under  the  mistaken  idea 
that  they  might  be  useful  as  works  of  reference, 
but  I  never  open  them,  and  they  cumber  the 
shelves,  keeping  out  their  betters.  I  do  not 
refer  to  some  of  the  excellent  anthologies, 
such,  for  example,  as  Stedman  occasionally 
gives  us;  for  collections  of  poems  are  of  value, 
because  each  poem  is  given  completely  and  is 
a  work  of  art  by  itself.  Birth-day  books  are 
another  abomination,  where  an  author's  crea- 
tions are  belittled  by  a  presentation  in  disjointed 
fragments.  Conceive  of  the  effrontery  of  offer- 
ing The  World's  Best  Literature  in  forty -five 
volumes!  What  a  colossal  scrap-book,  an  olla 

226 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

podrida,  a  heterogeneous  medley!  I  prefer  to 
decide  for  myself  what  the  world's  "  best  litera- 
ture" is.  The  audacity  of  the  enterprise  is 
its  only  merit.  It  may  be  useful  in  a  mining 
camp  in  Montana,  or  in  a  cattle  ranche  in 
Texas.  I  thoroughly  agree  with  the  views  of 
Leslie  Stephen,  as  they  are  expressed  in  my 
letter,  although,  in  his  gentle  and  polite  con- 
sideration of  Mr.  R.  W.  Montagu,  he  softens 
his  criticism  somewhat  too  much,  in  my  judg- 
ment. But  Mr.  Stephen  always  preserves  the 
poise  of  good-breeding.  He  says: 

22  HYDE  PARK  GATE  S.  W. 

7th  84. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  am  obliged  by  your  note  and 
the  volume  of  Johnsoniana  which  I  have  just 
received.  I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  make  any 
useful  suggestions:  for,  in  the  first  place,  I  have 
so  much  work  on  hand  just  now  that  I  have  only 
had  time  to  glance  at  it;  and,  in  the  next  place,  I 
must  confess  to  you  that  for  my  own  private  pur- 
pose, selections  of  this  kind  are  not  very  acceptable. 
I  like  Boswell's  "encumbering  text"  and  prefer 
complete  editions.  I  do  not  condemn  the  tastes 
of  others,  and  your  selection  may  be  welcome  and 
profitable  to  many  readers;  but  I  cannot  speak 
for  those  who  do  not  share  my  feelings.  I  can 
only  say  that  I  am  glad  of  anything  which  popular- 
izes Johnson. 

Yours  truly 

LESLIE  STEPHEN. 

R.  W.  MONTAGU  ESQ. 

227 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  reputation  of  George  Cruikshank  en- 
dures amazingly.  Few  English  catalogues  are 
without  specimens  of  his  work,  and  the  prices 
are  marvellous.  He  was,  perhaps,  a  fertile  and 
industrious  caricaturist,  but  his  lack  of  early 
training  is  always  apparent,  and  he  is  often 
guilty  of  undeniable  vulgarity.  He  developed 
a  mania  in  his  old  age  of  asserting  title  to  other 
people's  property,  of  appropriating  credit  as  the 
originator  of  divers  popular  novels,  such  as 
Ainsworth's  Miser's  Daughter  and  Dickens's 
Oliver  Twist.  Austin  Dobson  says  that  "he 
was  not  exempt  from  a  certain  'Roman  in- 
firmity' of  exaggerating  the  importance  of 
his  own  performances."  Some  of  his  work 
is  so  atrocious  that  his  friends  explain  it  by 
the  suggestion  that  he  was  purposely  endeavor- 
ing to  be  released  from  an  unprofitable  engage- 
ment— an  explanation  which  is  more  discredit- 
able to  him  than  the  badness  of  his  productions. 
He  converted  himself  to  the  "total  abstinence" 
belief  by  his  own  efforts  in  the  pictorial  way, 
and  he  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  many  ac- 
complished people.  There  was  an  element  of 
strength  in  him,  and  his  continued  vogue  is  a 
testimony  in  his  favor.  That  there  were  times 
in  his  life  when  he  was  pinched  by  poverty  is 
revealed  partially  in  this  letter  of  mine,  inserted 
in  the  interesting  Life  by  Blanchard  Jerrold : 

228 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

AMWELE,  ST.  Apl  23  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, —  I  am  very  much  afraid  that 
it  will  not  be  in  my  power  to  let  you  have  the  £5 
to-day — or  even  this  week — for  I  am  most  dread- 
fully disappointed  in  various  quarters.  Of  course 
you  are  aware  that  Frank  owes  me  about  £6 — but 
this  I  would  not  mind  losing  altho'  I  can  ill  afford 
to  do  so,  but  the  speculation  seemed  so  promising 
and  it  appears  even  now  that  Frank  is  able  to  get  a 
living  out  of  it  and  that  the  concern  may  ultimately 
turn  out  profitably,  after  all — but  as  I  said,  the 
project  seemed  so  likely  to  succeed  that  I  should 
not  have  been  satisfied  with  myself  had  I  not  seen 
some  risk — for  the  sake  of  the  family — but  I  was 
prepared  to  run  still  further  risks — in  disposition 
— but  unfortunately  all  my  resources  seem  to  fail 
at  this  moment — and  instead  of  being  able  to  assist 
others,  I  am  in  great  need  of  assistance  myself — 
I  can  now  only  assure  you  that  the  moment  I  can 
get  the  needful  you  may  depend  upon  seeing 
Yours  truly, 

GEO.  CRUIKSHANK— 

I  have  not  time  to  go  farther  into  the  matter  now, 
but  surely  the  landlord  will  wait — if  he  has  a  part — 
MR.  W.  MILLS. 

George  Augustus  Sala,  in  his  amusing  sketch 
of  his  own  life,  says  that  Cruikshank  had  "  pelvis 
on  the  brain."  Cruikshank  kept  saying  to 
him,  "What  are  you  and  what  can  you  do  if 
your  pelvis  is  wrong."  Sala  adds,  very  justly, 
that  the  artist  must  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
guide-post.  "  He  set  you  in  the  right  direction, 

229 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

but  he  did  not  travel  thither  himself;  and  his 
figures  exhibit  few  signs  of  anatomical  pro- 
ficiency/' His  horses  were  always  monsters, 
and  the  waists  of  his  women  absolutely  in- 
credible. 

I  am  a  little  tired  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  wander  back  to  more  remote  times.  It 
may  be  a  relief  to  consort  for  a  season  with  the 
pompous  dignity  of  the  days  of  Queen  Anne 
and  of  the  early  Georges.  Some  one  has  ob- 
served the  fact  that  the  reigns  of  English  queens 
—  Elizabeth,  Anne,  and  Victoria  —  have  been 
the  periods  most  remarkable  in  English  litera- 
ture. We  may  begin  most  appropriately  with 
a  typical  representative  of  the  time  of  Anne; 
for  Joseph  Addison,  essayist,  poet,  and  states- 
man, born  seven  years  later  than  the  Queen  and 
surviving  her  only  five  years,  is  entitled  to  that 
distinction.  My  letter  is  not,  to  be  sure,  much 
more  than  a  hastily  scribbled  note,  and  it  is 
not  at  all  in  the  style  of  the  Spectator;  but  it 
is  Addison's,  and  it  is  addressed  to  Ambrose 
Phillips  (the  "  Namby  Pamby  "  of  Henry  Carey), 
who  wrote  the  sugary  thing  beginning  "  Dimply 
damsel,  sweetly  smiling/'  and  who,  as  Macaulay 
says,  was  "a  good  Whig  and  a  middling  poet/' 
Let  no  critic  tell  me  that  he  spelled  his  name 
"Philips,"  for  Addison  has  given  him  the 

230 


K. 


/. 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

double  1,  and  I  accept  his  authority.  The  title 
of  "Secretary"  was  given  to  him  because  he 
was  the  secretary  of  the  Hanover  Club,  and 
not  because  he  held  any  office  under  the  gov- 
ernment : 

DEAR  MR.  SECRETARY,— If  it  be  necessary,  I 

must  beg  of  you  once  more  to  make  my  excuse, 
and  I  hope  I  shall  not  trouble  you  again  on  this 
occasion  for  ye  remaining  part  of  ye  Winter. 

Yrs  entirely, 

Friday  Night.  J.   ADDISON— 

To  AMBROSE  PHILLIPS  ESQ. 
AT  MRS.  MANN'S.    [1714.] 

It  is  difficult  to  think  of  Alexander  Pope 
except  as  a  little,  old  man,  wearing  a  black 
cap,  and  with  his  hand  against  the  side  of  his 
ancient  and  wizened  face,  yet  he  died  within 
two  weeks  after  his  fifty-sixth  birthday,  having 
written  the  Essay  on  Criticism  at  twenty-three 
and  published  the  first  instalment  of  the  Iliad 
at  twenty-seven.  But  we  all  know  well  the  fa- 
miliar story  of  Pitt,  prime-minister  at  twenty- 
four;  Napoleon,  conqueror  of  Italy  at  twenty- 
seven;  and  Hamilton,  father  of  American  fi- 
nance at  thirty-two.  Pope  must  have  been  an 
insignificant  object  indeed,  with  his  four  feet 
six  inches  of  stature  and  his  legs  so  thin  that 
he  was  obliged  to  wear  three  pairs  of  stockings 
in  order  to  give  them  form  or  substance.  Per- 

231 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

haps  he  might  have  prolonged  his  life  if  he  had 
not  been  so  fond  of  "highly  seasoned  dishes" 
and  "potted  lampreys/'  I  never  ate  a  potted 
lamprey,  but  I  am  sure  that  it  would  not  agree 
with  me,  and  my  constitution  is  far  from  fragile. 
Leslie  Stephen,  to  whom  the  world  is  in  debt  for 
so  much  that  is  valuable  in  literary  history, 
tells  us  that  Pope  was  abstemious  in  drink; 
but  that  he  sometimes  bought  wines  is  proven 
by  my  letter,  which  he  wrote  the  year  before 
his  death,  addressed  "  To  Mr.  Slingsby  Bethel,  at 
his  house  on  Tower  hill,  London" — not  the 
Shimei  of  Absalom  and  Achitophel,  the  author 
of  The  World's  Mistake  in  Oliver  Cromwell,  but 
possibly  the  son  of  that  distinguished  person- 
age. Pope  writes: 

Feb.  6th  [1743.] 

DR  SIR — I  have  been  in  hopes  to  find  a  day 
to  see  you;  or  at  least  to  have  met  you  at  Lady 
Codrington's ;  but  I  now  hear  she  does  not  come 
to  Town  at  all;  and  yr  good  Brother  mentions  no 
time  for  his  coming  this  way,  but  only  in  general, 
if  he  grows  better.  I  am  in  yr  debt  for  some  wine, 
but  what  I  now  write  to  you  upon,  is  that  I  could 
very  much  wish  you  cd  take  300*  more  of  mine  to 
make  yr  700  an  even  thousand,  if  it  be  not  too 
inconvenient  to  yrself.  I  am  adjusting  several 
of  my  little  affairs,  &  am  payd  in  a  good  deal 
of  money  which  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with. 
I  must  also  speedily  determine  upon  a  purchase, 
with  yr  brother,  wch  according  as  I  can,  or  cannot, 

232 


f  / 

t/  A44rt> 


J 


M 


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/      #*-*//  ex^ 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

imploy  ye  money,  I  wd  settle  as  soon  as  possible, 
both  his  health  &  mine  being  very  precarious. 
For  within  these  4  months  I  am  fallen  into  an 
asthma  almost  as  bad  as  his,  and  hardly  able  to 
stir  abroad.  I  lye  at  present  at  the  Earl  of  Orrery's 
in  Westminster,  Duke  Street,  whither  a  line  will 
find  me  these  3  or  4  days,  and  be  a  particular  fa- 
vour to  Dr  Sir, 

Yr  faithfull  &  obliged 
humble  servant, 
A.  POPE. 

The  amazing  folly  which  leads  men  to  cut 
out  the  signatures  from  letters  of  famous  per- 
sons is  a  matter  of  perpetual  wonder  to  me. 
I  cannot  comprehend  the  fatuity  which  impels 
rational  beings  to  mutilate  manuscripts  in  such 
an  unjustifiable  way.  Here,  for  example,  is  a 
letter  of  Jonathan  Swift,  dated  in  1722,  of  three 
closely  written  pages,  which  came  from  the  col- 
lection of  Bishop  Percy — a  Punning  History  of 
Poetry,  which  may  be  found  in  the  third  vol- 
ume of  NichoH's  supplement  to  Swift's  Works; 
but  some  miscreant  has  cut  off  the  last  line 
and  the  signature.  If  I  could  find  him  I 
would  put  him  to  the  torture;  I  would  decree 
that  he  should  read  the  Official  Records  of  the 
War  of  the  Rebellion  from  Bull  Run  to  Ap- 
pomattox.  I  suppose  that  the  criminal  is  dead, 
and  that  he  is  suffering  in  some  appropriate 
corner  of  Inferno. 

233 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  Dean's  puns  are  unpardonably  bad,  and 
no  one  now  living  would  dare  to  write  such 
abominations  as  this:  "A  good  poet,  if  he 
designs  to  Tickle  the  world  must  be  Gay  and 
Young,  but,  if  he  proposes  to  give  us  rational 
pleasure,  he  must  be  as  grave  as  a  Pope/' 
The  wretchedness  of  the  paranomasia  does  not, 
however,  justify  the  wickedness  of  the  scoundrel 
who  took  away  the  Dean's  good  name.  In  the 
same  wrapper  is  a  page  of  dubious  verse,  head- 
ed "A  wicked,  treasonable  libel,"  and  on  the 
back  Swift  has  written,  without  much  regard 
for  the  rules  of  orthography,  this  comment: 
"A  traiterous  libel  writ  severall  years  ago. 
It  is  inconsistent  with  it  self.  Copyd  Sept. 
9>  !735-  I  wish  I  knew  the  author  that  I  might 
hang  him."  I  regret  that  the  nature  of  this 
"libel"  prevents  me  from  spreading  it  upon 
these  pages,  but  I  fancy  that  the  coarse  humor 
of  it  prompted  the  Dean  to  copy  it  rather  than 
his  avowed  desire  "to  discover  the  traits  of  an 
author  that  I  might  inform  against  him." 
Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  Dean 
wrote  it  himself. 

There  is  also  a  long  letter  to  Swift,  of  five 
folio  pages,  from  William  King,  Archbishop 
of  Dublin,  dated  November  22,  1716,  and  Swift 
has  endorsed  upon  it  a  first  sketch  of  his  answer, 
written,  as  a  note  at  the  foot  says,  "  in  the  hasty 

234 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

moment  of  resentment."  The  reply  actually 
sent  is  to  be  found  in  the  twelfth  volume  of 
Swift's  Works,  in  the  edition  of  1766.  Mr. 
Dunlop  says:  "King  only  saw  in  him  [Swift] 
a  clergyman  of  very  unclerical  habits,  of  con- 
siderable ability,  but  of  ill-regulated  ambition 
and  of  overweening  egotism.  His  advice  to 
him  to  turn  his  attention  seriously  to  the  study 
of  theology,  though  well-intentioned,  was  un- 
accompanied by  any  substantial  preferment, 
and  consequently  appeared  to  Swift  impertinent 
and  even  slightly  malicious/'  The  Archbishop 
lectures  the  Dean  with  some  severity,  and  in 
his  response  Swift  says,  in  his  clear  and  vigor- 
ous way:  "I  beg  your  Grace  to  believe  that 
I  am  not  mistaken  in  myself.  I  allways  pro- 
fessed to  be  against  the  Pretender,  and  am  so 
still;  and  this  is  not  to  make  my  court,  (which 
I  know  is  vain)  for  I  own  myself  full  of  doubts, 
fears  and  disattisfactions,  which  I  think  on 
as  seldom  as  I  can;  yet  if  I  were  of  any  value, 
the  publick  may  safely  rely  on  my  loyalty, 
because  I  look  upon  the  coming  of  the  Pre- 
tender as  a  greater  evil  than  any  we  are  like 
to  suffer  under  the  worst  Whig  ministry  that 
can  be  found."  The  Dean  could  always  be 
trusted  to  give  back  as  good  as  he  received. 
I  am  pleased  to  know  that  at  one  period  of  his 
life  "he  filled  his  time  by  excessive  exercise, 

235 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

in  spite  of  his  physicians."  It  reminds  me  of 
Mr.  Evarts,  who  ascribed  his  long  life  to  the 
fact  that  he  " never  took  any  exercise." 

Queen  Anne  herself  writes  as  if  she  was  unac- 
customed to  using  the  pen,  but  her  signature 
is  distinct  and  legible.  It  is  prefixed  to  this 
document : 

ANNE  R.— Our  Will  and  Pleasure  is  That  by 
vertue  of  our  Generall  Letters  of  Privy  Scale  bearing 
date  the  I3th  day  of  March  in  the  First  year  of 
our  Reign,  you  issue  and  pay  or  cause  to  be  issued 
and  paid,  out  of  any  our  Treasure  being  and  re- 
maining in  the  Receipt  of  our  Exchequer  applicable 
to  the  uses  of  our  Civill  Government,  unto  our 
Right  Trusty  &  Right  Wei-beloved  Cousin  & 
Counsellour  Hugh  Earl  of  Loudoun  or  his  assigns 
the  sum  of  One  Thousand  pounds  as  of  our  free 
Guift  &  Royall  Bounty  without  account.  And 
for  so  doing  this  shall  be  your  Warrant.  Given 
at  our  Court  at  Kensington,  the  yth  day  of  August, 
1710,  in  the  ninth  year  of  our  Reigne. 

By  her  Majestie's  Command 

GODOLPHIN. 

To  our  Right  Trusty  and  Right 
Welbeloved  Cousin  &  Counsellour 
Sidney  Earl  of  Godolphin  and 
high  Treasurer  of  Great  Britain. 

Matthew  Maty  was  made  an  under-librarian 
in  the  British  Museum  when  it  was  established 
in  1753,  and  rose  to  be  principal  librarian  in 
1772.  He  seems  to  have  been  an  intimate 

236 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

friend  of  Gibbon's,  and  corrected  the  proof-sheets 
of  the  Essay  on  the  Study  of  Literature,  the 
first  production  of  the  historian;  but  Dr.  John- 
son hated  him  intensely,  and  when  his  name 
was  mentioned  by  Dr.  Adams  as  a  suitable 
assistant  in  some  projected  work,  exclaimed: 
"The  little  black  dog!  I'd  throw  him  in  the 
Thames  first."  Maty  must  have  been  endowed 
with  a  mind  of  very  narrow  dimensions  if  we 
may  judge  by  a  letter  of  David  Hume's,  which 
is  couched  in  mild  language  considering  the 
provocation  which  he  had  received : 

SIR, — I  doubt  not,  but  you  remember,  that  when 
I  had  the  Pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Wickham 
about  two  months  ago,  I  mentioned  to  you  the  affair 
of  Mr.  Rousseau's  Letters  to  me,  the  Originals  of 
which  I  had  sent  to  Mr.  Maty,  to  be  preserved  in 
the  Musaeum.  As  the  curators  did  not  think 
proper  to  give  them  place,  I  wishd  to  recover  Pos- 
session of  them,  and  Mr.  Maty  promised  to  send 
them  to  me ;  But  he  always  neglected  it.  I  shoud 
be  much  oblig'd  to  you,  if  you  woud  put  him  in 
mind  of  it.  I  am,  sir 

Your  most  obedient  and  most 

humble  servant 
DAVID  HUME 

SECRETARY  OF  STATE'S  OFFICE 
ST.  JAMES'S  29  of  Oct  1767. 

P.S.  I  shoud  be  glad  to  know  whether  Dr. 
Maty  ever  propos'd  the  affair  to  the  Curators. 

237 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

In  these  days  of  liberal  thought,  the  mild 
scepticism  of  Hume  would  probably  receive 
little  notice;  but  it  appears  to  have  attracted 
great  attention  during  his  life,  and  after  his 
death  attempts  were  made  to  prove  that  he  was 
seriously  disturbed  by  the  prospect  of  dissolution. 
Varying  accounts  of  his  last  illness  were  given. 
Leslie  Stephen  says :  "  The  most  authentic,  ac- 
cording to  Dr.  McCosh  (History  of  Scottish  Phi- 
losophy), was  a  story  told  by  an  anonymous, 
but  apparently  respectable,  old  woman  in  a 
stage-coach,  who  said  that  she  had  been  Hume's 
nurse,  and  that  he  had  been  much  depressed, 
although  he  had  tried  to  be  cheerful  to  his  friends 
and  to  her.  It  is  not,  indeed,  impossible  that  a 
man  dying  of  cancer  may  have  been  sometimes 
out  of  spirits ;%  but  perhaps  it  is  more  likely  that 
the  old  lady  lied."1 

When  David  Garrick  died  and  his  funeral  pro- 
cession moved  solemnly  up  the  aisle  of  West- 
minster Abbey,  to  the  music  of  PurceH's  fine 
old  anthem,  by  the  side  of  the  bier  marched 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  Lord  Camden,  the 
Earl  of  Ossory,  Earl  Spencer,  Lord  Palmer- 
ston  (father  of  the  Premier),  and  Sir  Watkyn 
Wynne,  while  Dr.  Johnson,  Dunning,  Burke,  Fox, 
Barre,  and  a  host  of  famous  men  were  gather- 
ed around  the  grave  opened  under  the  Shake- 

1  Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  xxviii.  224. 

238 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

speare  monument.  I  do  not  like  the  Garrick 
monument,  and  I  agree  with  Elia  in  condemning 
it  as  out  of  taste.  Johnson's  familiar  tribute 
is  to  my  mind  a  much  greater  memorial — "I 
am  disappointed  by  that  stroke  of  death  which 
has  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  nations  and  impover- 
ished the  public  stock  of  harmless  pleasure/' 
It  was  to  the  Earl  of  Ossory,  his  future  pall- 
bearer, that  Garrick  wrote,  with  a  reverential  def- 
erence for  the  peerage  which  seems  to  us  repub- 
licans rather  exaggerated,  although  it  was  in 
accord  with  the  custom  of  the  time : 

ALTHORP,  Dec.  2\th 

MY  GOOD  LORD, — I  should  have  answered  your 
Lordship's  most  obliging  Letter  immediately  had 
not  a  return  of  my  old  complaint  kept  me  in  bed 
at  ye  time  of  the  Post  going  away.  Mrs.  Gar- 
rick &  I  are  very  unhappy  that  our  Engagements 
here  and  in  London  will  prevent  us  this  time  from 
paying  our  Respects  to  Lady  Ossory  and  your 
Lordship — had  we  known  that  our  Company  would 
not  have  been  inconvenient,  we  should  certainly 
have  done  ourselves  that  honour  and  pleasure. 

I  am,  my  Lord 
Your  Lordship's  most  oblig'd  and 

most  obedient  servt — 
D.  GARRICK. 

The  address  to  "my  good  Lord"  somehow 
brings  to  my  mind  the  story  told  by  that  gen- 
tle scholar,  Ludwig  Schumacher,  in  his  dainty 

239 


Meditations  otf  an  Autograph  Collector 

little  book  on  The  Somerset  Hills,  of  the  rev- 
olutionary patriot  and  general,  William  Alex- 
ander, Lord  Stirling,  who  failed  to  obtain  rec- 
ognition of  his  title,  but  who  was  extremely 
proud  of  it,  and  maintained  a  kind  of  baronial 
luxury  at  his  country  seat  near  Baskingridge, 
New  Jersey.  When  a  soldier  was  about  to 
be  executed  for  desertion,  he  called  out  in  his 
terror,  "Lord,  have  mercy  on  me!"  Lord  Stir- 
ling, hearing  the  appeal,  replied,  warmly,  "I 
wont,  you  rascal !  I  wont  have  mercy  on  you!" 
I  confess  that  Hannah  More  is  always  as- 
sociated in  my  reflections  with  the  severest 
morality,  the  Clapham  sect,  high  religious 
purpose,  and  treatises  of  a  serious  and  didactic 
nature.  The  paraphrase  of  Lovelace's  lines 
seems  to  be  atrociously  irreverent: 

I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  Hannah  More. 

But  up  to  Garrick's  death  she  was  not  averse 
to  fun,  and  it  was  not  until  after  that  time  that 
she  began  to  experience  a  conviction  that  play- 
going  was  sinful,  actually  refusing  to  attend 
the  performance  in  1787  of  her  own  tragedy  of 
"  Percy,"  which  was  heavy  enough  to  be  proper. 
She  admired  Garrick  devotedly,  and  Kitty 
Clive,  about  as  unlike  Hannah  as  one  mortal 
can  be  unlike  another,  was  very  jealous  of 

240 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

"these  Moors/'  as  she  called  them.  It  was 
Kitty— Garrick  called  her  "Clivey  Pivey"  in 
a  somewhat  silly  way  —  who  said  of  him: 
"Damn  him,  he  could  act  a  gridiron!"  It  is 
amusing  to  find  the  great  actor,  who  had  a  pro- 
found admiration  for  Miss  More,  writing  to  her 
as  "My  dearest  of  Hannahs,"  and  it  is  equally 
amusing  to  read  her  account  of  an  occasion  when 
"  my  beaux  were  Dr.  Johnson,  Dean  Tucker,  and 
last,  but  not  least  in  our  love,  David  Garrick." 
Hannah  survived  David  more  than  fifty  years, 
but  I  venture  to  think  that  she  never  forgot  him. 
My  letter  of  hers  is  kindly,  and  its  reference  to 
Sir  John  Moore  is  not  without  interest: 

BARLEYWOOD,  Jan.  25—  [1809.] 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — Your  kind  scrap  with  the 
promise  of  a  letter  came  last  night,  and  I  hope  this 
will  arrive  in  time  to  stop  your  bond.  I  positively 
will  not  accept  any  money  this  year,  so  don't  send 
it.  If  I  am  living,  and  the  French  have  not  swal- 
lowed us  up,  we  may  be  glad  of  it  another  year. 
But  tho'  I  refuse  your  money,  I  will  not  excuse 
your  letter, — it  will  be  a  treat — so  pray  write. 
Your  kindly  intended  newspaper  did  not  come,  but 
our  own  told  us  tales  at  which  my  heart  aches. 
It  seems  as  if  God  would  let  us  depend  on  no  one 
but  himself.  How  had  we  rested  our  hopes  on  my 
brave  namesake.  I  send  regards  to  Mrs.  T.  I  have 
had  a  winter  of  most  intense  sufferings. 
Yrs  ever,  my  dear  sir 

H.  MORE. 
«e  241 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Another  acquaintance  of  Garrick's,  although 
he  was  not  a  real  friend,  was  the  brilliant  dema- 
gogue John  Wilkes,  profane,  profligate  creat- 
ure, the  enfant  terrible  of  English  politics ;  ugly, 
squinting,  vicious,  full  of  energy  and  intellect- 
ual strength,  but  of  a  character  altogether 
despicable.  I  always  admired  his  speech  in 
reply  to  Thurlow.  When  the  Chancellor  said, 
"May  God  forget  me  when  I  forget  my  sov- 
ereign!" Wilkes  murmured,  "God  forget  you! 
hell  see  you  damned  first !"  Garrick  wrote 
to  him  :  "  Mon  cher  Wilkes  !  you  who  will 
be  exiled  in  this  world  and  damned  forever 
in  the  next  and  to  whom  posterity  will  set 
up  a  statue/'  etc.  Yet  he  spoke  of  Garrick, 
after  the  actor's  death,  in  harsh  and  unkind 
terms.1 

Wilkes's  letter  has  a  dignity  about  it,  but  it  is 
probably  insincere,  for  he  had  not  an  atom  of 
honesty  in  his  character;  and  he  was  justly 
distrusted  by  almost  every  one  who  knew  him : 

BERKELEY  SQUARE,  May  i. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  feel  much  gratified  by  your  kind 
note.  The  Electors  of  Westminster  may  do  as  they 
please.  If  they  choose  me  on  my  own  terms,  that 
is  to  say,  to  act  on  my  own  judgement  on  all  occa- 
sions, I  shall  be  most  happy  to  serve  them — other- 
wise they  must  look  out  for  some  one  else.  What- 

1  Fitzgerald's  Garrick,  p.  212. 
242 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ever  occurs  I  shall  not  forget  that  my  conduct  has 
been  such  as  to  meet  with  your  approbation. 
Your  very  obliged 

JOHN  WILKES. 

His  saying  is  characteristic  of  the  man :  "  Give 
me  a  grain  of  truth,  and  I  will  mix  it  up  with  a 
great  mass  of  falsehood,  so  that  no  chemist  shall 
ever  be  able  to  separate  them." 

A  very  different  man  from  Wilkes  was  William 
Petty,  Earl  of  Shelburne  and  the  first  Marquis 
of  Lansdowne,  who,  while  unpopular  in  a  way, 
was  a  philosophic  statesman  and  a  generous 
friend  of  literature  and  the  fine  arts.  It  was 
Shelburne  who  told  Dr.  Johnson  that  "a  man 
of  rank  who  looks  into  his  own  affairs  may 
have  all  that  he  ought  to  have,  all  that  can 
be  of  any  use,  or  appear  with  any  advantage, 
for  five  thousand  pounds  a  year.1  The  Letters 
of  Junius  have  been  attributed  to  him,  but  he 
denied  the  authorship.  He  writes,  in  1762,  to 
Lord  Egremont: 

WHITTON,  July  9, 1762. 

MY  DEAR  LORD,—-I  send  you  inclosed  a  letter 
from  Francis.  I  have  written  to  him  that  the 
opening  he  mentions  of  the  German  Commissariat 
&  Prince  Ferdinand's  intrigues  in  it,  may  be  very 
proper.  The  consideration  of  oeconomy  may  be 

1  Boswell's  Johnson  (Hill),  1889.  iii.  300. 
243 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

even  extended  to  N.  America,  which  has  been 
little  considered.  Where  the  war  has  been  car- 
ried on  in  like  manner  however  without  Plan, 
Knowledge  or  Foresight  of  any  sort.  But  that  at 
present  it  is  necessary  to  bring  back  the  minds  of 
People  to  the  origin  of  the  War  and  to  their  State 
in  1754.  That  &  that  alone  can  dispose  men  to 
form  just  judgements  of  the  conditions  of  a  Peace, 
wherever  they  may  come.  The  Expences  &c  of 
the  War  then  becomes  a  strong  additional  argument 
after  it  has  been  first  shown,  that  the  Intent  of  it 
was  to  defend  not  to  acquire,  which  is  impossible 
by  the  Nature  of  it,  being  different  from  all  former 
Wars,  even  on  the  Continent,  where  however  the 
chief  part  of  our  expence  now  lies.  He  is  desirous 
of  the  Papers  relative  to  the  Kg.  of  Prussia's  offer 
in  1756 — as  Mr.  Fox,  tho'  he  was  Secretary  of 
State  that  year  knows  nothing  of  them,  I  have 
told  him  in  all  events  to  come  here  on  Monday. 
If  your  Lordship  has  anything  to  add,  you'll  be 
so  good  therefore  to  let  me  know  before  that. 
I  am  with  great  Regard,  my  Dear  Lord — 
Your  most  Faithfull  servt — 

SHELBURNE. 

Gilbert  White,  of  Selborne,  curate  and  natural- 
ist, but  a  better  naturalist  than  curate,  keeps  a 
place  in  the  recollections  of  book  lovers  to  this 
day,  for  his  Natural  History  of  Selborne  has 
become  a  classic,  famous  but  unread,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  from  time  to  time  new  editions 
are  given  to  us.  Some  one  will  tell  me  that 
I  am  mistaken  in  saying  that  it  is  "unread." 

244 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

I  think  I  can  demonstrate  that  I  am  right; 
many  people  possess  copies,  but  I  have  never 

met  a  man  who  had  read  all  of  it.     White's  let- 

• 

ter,  written  in  a  very  precise  and  formal  hand, 
seems  to  be  addressed  to  an  attorney: 

SELBORNE,  July  16, 1782. 

SIR, — Whether  the  agreement  between  Mr.  Box 
&  my  grandfather  respecting  the  trees  would  stand 
good  in  law,  I  am  no  judge;  but  there  is  great 
reason  to  suppose  that  the  parties  intended  & 
understood  that  it  should  be  binding.  The  trees 
are  by  no  means  worth  contending  about,  because 
they  are  of  little  value.  And  since  they  are  so,  I 
hope  the  present  Lord  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  let 
them  remain  for  the  purpose  for  which  they  were 
planted :  all  except  one,  which  I  hope  he  will  order 
to  be  taken  down  because  it  hangs  over  my  cart- 
house,  &  is  in  danger  of  falling. 

Your  most  humble  servant — 
GIL:  WHITE. 

I  am  willing  to  admit  that  to  my  own  liking 
the  English  curate  cannot  compare  with  our  Gil- 
bert White  of  America,  the  observant  and  fas- 
cinating John  Burroughs. 

Dr.  John  Wolcot,  deacon,  physician,  and  sat- 
irist, belongs  to  this  period,  for  he  was  born 
in  1738  and  lived  to  be  eighty -one  years  old. 
Peter  Pindar's  poems  are  too  ephemeral  to  be 
remembered  at  this  time,  and  were  of  that  quality 

245 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

which  does  not  endure,  although  appropriate 
and  humorous  enough  for  the  day.  His  manu- 
script in  the  collection  is  entitled : 

A  plaintive  epistle  from  John  Ketch  Esq. 

of   Newgate,   to   William   Pitt   Esq.    of 

Downing  Street. 

He  begins : 

Sir,  you  are  Minister  of  State, 

And  I  a  Minister  of  Justice, 
But  very  diffrent  is  our  fate — 

Mine  will  be  altered  soon,  my  trust  is. 
While  you  are  ham  &  turkey  carving, 

I  sir,  am  literally  starving. 

This  sort  of  writing  would  be  regarded  to-day 
as  fit  only  for  the  daily  newspaper,  yet  Pindar 
was  greatly  admired  in  his  time.  In  1811  he 
was  almost  entirely  blind,  and  Crabbe  Robinson 
records  the  fact  that  at  a  dinner  he  "was  re- 
quested to  help  him  to  his  wine,  which  was  in 
a  separate  pint  bottle,  and  was  not  wine  at  all, 
but  brandy."  He  told  Robinson  that  he  rec- 
ollected his  own  writings  with  no  pleasure. 
"Satire  is  a  bad  trade/'  he  remarked.  Satire 
and  brandy  mixed  are  bad  passports  to  immor- 
tality. While  it  may  be  true,  as  Peter  Pindar 
says  himself,  that 

E'en  the  whole  world,  blockheads  and  men  of  letters 
Enjoy  a  cannonade  upon  their  betters, 

246 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  amusement  is  not  lasting.  One  genera- 
tion cannot  laugh  at  the  keen  thrusts  which 
made  its  predecessor  laugh.  Churchill  erred 
when  he  said: 

When  satire  flies  abroad  on  falsehood's  wing, 
Short  is  her  life,  and  impotent  her  sting; 
But  when  to  truth  allied,  the  wound  she  gives 
Sinks  deep,  and  to  remoter  ages  lives. 

The  world  does  not  wish  to  preserve  the  record 
of  contempt  or  contumely;  it  prefers  to  keep 
alive  the  tender,  the  appreciative,  and  the  loving. 
If  the  satires  of  Horace  and  of  Juvenal  are 
perpetuated,  it  is  because  they  relate  to  periods 
so  remote  that  they  have  the  flavor  of  antiq- 
uity and  have  become  classics.  Perhaps  Pin- 
dar will  be  a  classic  in  time. 


XV 

THE  novels  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  appear  to 
retain  a  good  deal  of  their  original  pop- 
ularity, for  editions  continue  to  be  printed  and 
purchased;  but  it  may  be  that  this  is  not  evi- 
dence that  they  are  read  by  the  purchasers. 
Wealth  is  so  widely  distributed  in  these  days, 
and  our  country  has  been  so  wonderfully  pros- 
perous, that  private  libraries  have  greatly  in- 
creased in  number;  and  the  owners  must  neces- 
sarily possess  The  Waverley  Novels.  I  am  al- 
most ashamed  to  confess  that  while  I  have  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  me  to  acquire  two  "sets/' 
I  have  not  been  able  during  the  past  twenty 
years  to  fasten  my  attention  upon  any  of  the 
tales  excepting  only  one  of  the  poprest  of  them, 
according  to  the  decree  of  the  critics — Count 
Robert  of  Paris,  a  story  which  I  liked  as  a  boy, 
and  which,  in  modern  English  terminology, 
I  should  say  is  "not  half  bad."  It  is  signif- 
icant, however,  that  while  Scott's  poetry  and 
Scott's  Napoleon  are  not  in  favor  with  book- 
buyers,  the  novels  are  always  in  demand. 

248 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Scott  dabbled  in  politics  now  and  then,  and 
was  curiously  given  to  figuring  as  a  landed 
proprietor  and  local  magnate.  One  of  my  let- 
ters indicates  his  interest  in  elections : 

DEAR  SIR,— Elliot  would  probably  tell  you 
exactly  how  the  poll  stands.  Of  the  two  black- 
guards who  have  left  us,  there  is  at  least  an  equal 
chance  that  we  recover  one.  In  that  case  the  elec- 
tion for  the  Burgh  of  Selkirk  and  most  probably 
for  the  seat  turn  on  this  one  vote  of  Sampson.  I 
have  written  to  Lord  Montagu  and  in  the  mean 
time  will  see  Sampson  tomorrow  early  and  do 
all  in  my  power  to  gain  him.  I  would  not  fear 
the  Pringles  much  but  George  Elliot  of  Minto  is 
indefatigable  with  a  view  as  I  believe  to  stir  in 
Roxburghshire  at  some  convenient  opportunity 
and  secure  Mr.  Hannay's  interest.  It  is  cruel  to 
see  the  Buccleuch  interest  fall  away  at  this  moment 
owing  to  our  friend's  absence,  and  lamented  state 
of  health.  Believe  me 

Yours  very  sincerely 

Sunday  WALTER  SCOTT. 

[May  2,  1819] 
ABBOTSFORD — 

These  minor  anxieties  about  elections  are 
absurdly  ephemeral,  and  one  does  not  relish 
the  thought  of  a  great  writer  engaged  in  wor- 
rying over  such  passing  controversies.  It  is 
characteristic,  however,  of  the  every-day  man, 
and  perhaps  it  was  because  he  had  so  many 
of  the  every-day-man  qualities  that  Scott  ap- 

249 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

peals  strongly  to  humanity.  My  letter  of  Scott's 
handsome  son-in-law  and  biographer  is  never- 
theless more  to  my  liking,  although  the  blight 
of  politics  has  faintly  touched  it.  The  refer- 
ence to  "  P.  George  of  Denmark"  rather  puz- 
zles me;  but  the  mention  of  Melbourne  is  more 
easily  understood.  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
omit  one  passage.  Lockhart  is  writing  to  Hay- 
ward,  the  man  of  so  many  letters,  dinners,  and 
reminiscences : 

LANARK 
July  1 8, 1837. 

DEAR  HAYWARD,  —  I  hope  to  receive  Lady 
Julia's  packets  soon  and  will  examine  them  and 
report  to  Mr.  Cadell  immediately.  Thanks  for 
your  kind  tolerance  about  etiquette  which  will  do 
quite  well  in  October.  I  think  I  shall  be  in  London 
sometime  in  that  month — and  at  all  events  the 
next  Review  must  not  be  done  in  my  absence. 
I  hope  it  will  also  include  the  Pickwick  and  therein 
as  much  merriment  as  you  please  for  I  find  the 
matter  on  hand  is  rather  sombre  and  I  should  like 
to  have  not  only  two  but  five  gayish  articles  to 
balance  the  account.  I  was  rather  vexed  about 
our  fat  friend  the  Bluebottle — but  why  did  he  lug 
in  Croker  and  Joseph  Hume  as  a  leading  humbug 
of  the  age  in  one  of  his  late  pamphlets?  He  might 
have  known  there  would  be  a  day  of  reckoning — 
and  can't  wonder  that  my  absence  should  have  been 
taken  advantage  of.  But  all  this  between  our- 
selves. I  am  in  the  midst  of  an  electioneering 
row  (as  who  is  not?)  but  I  can't  pluck  up  spirit 

250 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

and  take  any  interest  in  it.  As  for  the  Carlton 
I  have  long  despised  and  even  loathed  it  and  its 
doings,  and  feel  convinced  that  Toryism  will  never 
thrive  until  there  has  been  a  cholera  sent  expressly 
to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  the  old  red-tapers  whose 
base  trickeries  alone  could  have  prevented  the  in- 
tellect, character  and  property  of  the  country  from 
routing  the  whigradical  confederacy  and  Erebus 
long  ago. 

Who  is  to  be  P.  George  of  Denmark?  What  a 
pity  that  the  Earl  Marshall  whom  she  asked  about 
the  place  for  her  garter  had  not  been  tant  soit  pen 

a  Melbourne I  suppose  Hook  will  soon 

be  Baron  Von  Fuddle-vum-Pipesenstein  and  cov- 
ered all  over  with  the  stars  and  crosses  of  Herren- 
hausen.  The  History  of  Hanover  must  now  go 
on  like  smoke.  I  wish  ive  could  be  allowed  about 
at  the  Dedication.  Yours  truly 

J.  G.  LOCKHART 

Possibly  Bulwer  may  not  be  "literature/'  yet 
the  man  who  gave  to  the  drama  "  Richelieu " 
and  "The  Lady  of  Lyons/'  and  to  fiction  The 
Last  Days  of  Pompeii  and  My  Novel,  surely  de- 
serves recognition  in  the  empire  of  letters.  Ten- 
nyson was  rather  caddish  when  he  called  him 

The  padded  man — that  wears  the  stays, 
Who  killed  the  girls  and  thrilled  the  boys 
With  dandy  pathos. 

Tennyson  must  have  been  in  a  villanous  humor 
when  he  sent  his  "  New  Timon  "  to  Punch  and 
scored  his  critic  so  unmercifully,  descending  to 

251 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

billingsgate  —  for  that  is  the  only  descriptive 
name  to  give  to  such  a  verse  as  the  unpardona- 
ble one : 

What  profits  now  to  understand 
The  merits  of  a  spotless  shirt, 
A  dapper  boot— a  little  hand — 
If  half  the  little  soul  is  dirt? 

I  believe  that  the  Laureate  was  sorry  after- 
wards for  what  he  thus  wrote  in  his  haste 
and  anger.  I  sincerely  trust  that  he  was ;  and 
I  cannot  resist  the  feeling  that  an  affectation 
of  clean  linen  and  neat  foot-gear  has  as  much 
to  commend  it  as  that  of  long  cloaks,  long 
beard,  brutal  brusqueness,  and  persistent  chant- 
ing of  one's  own  poems.  Bulwer  must  have 
been  a  more  pleasant  man  to  meet  than  the 
flattered  singer,  the  peer  of  the  realm,  the  un- 
mannerly autocrat,  whose  personal  vanity  was 
almost  as  great  as  that  of  Brevet  Lieutenant- 
General  Winfield  Scott,  and  I  cannot  compare 
it  with  anything  more  colossal.  I  yield  to  no 
one  in  my  admiration  for  Lord  Tennyson,  but  I 
refuse  to  concede  to  him  the  right  to  be  inexpres- 
sibly rude  and  offensive  to  his  innocent  fellow- 
beings.  There  were  great  men  before  Agamem- 
non, and  there  were  greater  poets  who  were 
entitled  to  "the  grand  old  name  of  gentleman/' 

Bulwer's  little  foibles  of  style  are  amusingly 
called  to  mind  in  Thackeray's  George  de  Barn- 

252 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

well,  but  a  man  must  do  something  very  well 
to  be  burlesqued;  and  when  we  compare  The 
Last  Days  of  Pompeii  with  the  tinsel  and  the 
pseudo  -  classicism  of  Quo  Vadis?  we  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  to  say  that,  after  all, 

The  old  is  better  than  the  new. 

Bulwer's  letter  seems  to  me  to  have  a  kindly 
tone,  and  it  is  far  from  being  egotistical: 

DEAR  ELLIS, — I  am  very  much  obliged  by 
your  kind  note — and  delighted  to  find  you  have 
had  some  gratification  in  reading  what  I  often 
regret  to  have  written.  There  is  no  worse  curse 
than  to  live  too  fast —  All  authors  do  so — their 
hearts  grow  old  before  their  time — and  they  cease 
to  enjoy  as  they  begin  to  struggle.  But  enough 
of  this.  I  believe  Bentley  and  Saunders  and 
Oxley  to  be  the  best  publishers  for  all  light  works. 
But  I  fear  neither  they  nor  any  publisher  will 
give  much  for  translations  from  the  French,  they 
get  translations  done  incredibly  cheap — and  even 
then  they  complain  that  they  seldom  realize  the 
expense  of  printing.  But  Bentley  might  perhaps 
undertake  it  and  would  be  worth  trying.  I  do 
not  remember  by  whom  Mill's  Economy  is  pub- 
lished, nor  can  I  lay  my  hand  on  the  book  to  see. 
But  I  remember  to  have  bought  it  at  Joslings  & 
Ey ley's,  New  Bond  St.  where  you  can  no  doubt  ob- 
tain it.  His  best  writings  (his  Essays  on  Govern- 
ment &c)  are  printed  privately  and  not  sold. 
Believe  me,  dear  Ellis 

Truly  yrs          E.  L.  BlJLWER. 

253 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  Howitts  were  useful  tillers  of  the  literary 
garden,  and  have  left  behind  them  much  that 
is  of  permanent  value.  They  were  not  pre-em- 
inent or  commanding,  but  there  is  about  them 
an  atmosphere  of  culture  and  refinement.  Mary 
Howitt's  books  for  children  cannot  be  improved 
upon  even  in  these  days  of  progress,  and  William 
Howitt,  devoid  of  any  brilliant  qualities,  is  cer- 
tainly acceptable  and  entertaining.  Alaric  A. 
Watts,  to  whom  Mary  Howitt  writes,  is  a  forgot- 
ten poet  and  was  an  industrious  editor,  for  whom 
the  lawyer  must  feel  a  kindly  regard,  because 
he  is  said  to  have  "  exhausted  his  property  in 
six  chancery  suits/'  One  ought  to  have  suf- 
ficed. Mary,  true  to  the  traditions  of  her  sex, 
refuses  to  date  her  letter: 

Wednesday. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  WATTS,  —  Thanks  for  your 
long  letter  in  which  there  is  a  great  deal  of  good 
sense  and  a  great  deal  of  good  feeling.  Of  course 
you  are  right  and  I  admire  and  love  you  for  your 
chivalry.  The  Virgin  Mary  herself  was  not  more 
guiltless  than  our  friend — but  I  cannot  go  into  the 
question  now.  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  and 
Mr.  Hepworth  Dixon,  only  please  to  let  us  know 
what  is  the  hour  you  propose,  as  Anna  has  had 
an  engagement  for  some  time  on  that  day  and 
we  will  get  it  if  necessary  rearranged  to  suit  your 
time.  Be  sure  and  write  one  line  to  let  us  know 
this.  We  shall  go  over  to  see  you  as  soon  as  con- 
venient to  you  all.  We  are  extremely  grieved  to 

254 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

hear  of  Alfred's  illness.     Give  our  kind  love  to 
him.     Thank  Zillah  for  her  sweet  note  of  congrat- 
ulation and  with  best  love  to  dear  Mrs.  Watts, 
I  am,  my  dear  friend 

Yours  ever 

A.  A.  WATTS  ESQ.  M.  HOWITT 

Excuse  desperate  haste. 

Coming  back  to  autographs  "as  such/'  it  is 
of  interest  to  observe  that  the  great  New  Eng- 
land philosopher — whose  greatness  is  to-day  not 
as  manifest  as  it  was  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago 
—  was  not  offended  by  autographic  requests, 
and  complied  gracefully  with  the  demands  of 
his  admirers.  In  these  times,  the  ordinary  dab- 
bler in  books  probably  recalls  from  Emerson's 
works  only  the  lines,  dear  to  the  funny  man 
of  the  newspaper  and  the  magazine, 

If  the  red  slayer  thinks  he  slays, 
Or  if  the  slain  thinks  he  is  slain — 

lines  which  have  been  travestied  and  ridiculed 
more  than  almost  any  verses  of  any  poet  of 
the  last  century;  but  the  collector  will  regard 
with  infinite  kindliness  the  hard-working  es- 
sayist, poet,  and  preacher  who  could  find  time 
to  pen  these  words : 

CONCORD,  Aug.  21, 1865. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  am  sorry  to  have  detained  your 
cards  too  long  for  your  patience.  I  am  a  slow 
correspondent, — slowest  of  all  in  the  matter  of 

255 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

autographs.  I  make  a  bad  subject  enough  to  the 
photographers  but  the  cards  you  send  me  are  more 
unkind  to  me  than  Nature  herself  and  I  fancied, 
by  waiting  a  little,  I  might  send  you,  in  their  stead, 
such  as  my  friends  prefer.  But  I  have  not  had 
opportunity  lately  to  be  in  the  city. 
Respectfully 

MR.  CIST-  R-  w-  EMERSON— 

Cist  was  a  notorious  seeker  after  autographs, 
and  shamelessly  beset  all  distinguished  men  for 
examples  of  their  chirography.  He  must  have 
been  an  appalling  nuisance. 

George  Birkbeck  Hill,  a  discriminating  and 
delightful  writer  on  books  and  book-men,  gives 
Charles  Darwin  a  place  in  his  Talks  About 
Autographs,  and  I  am  rather  proud  to  say  that 
my  Darwin  letter  is  better  than  his.  I  must 
own  that  the  venerable  author  of  the  Origin 
of  Species  writes  very  indistinctly,  and  I  have 
been  compelled  to  make  a  wild  guess  at  some 
of  the  words,  but  I  defy  Sherlock  Holmes 
to  detect  the  meaning  of  some  of  his  hiero- 
glyphics. It  does  not  much  matter,  for  the 
substance  of  the  letter  may  be  discovered : 

Jan  27, 
BlCKENHAM— 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — I  was  so  ill  yesterday  I  hardly 
knew  what  I  wrote.  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to 
you.  I  should  be  grateful  for  any  other  correc- 

256 


if, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

tions  in  Vol.  2,  but  never  mind  mere  ordinary  words 
misspelt,  as  reader  will  see  oversight.  But  any 
names  or  scientific  terms  wrongly  spelt  ought  to 
be  corrected.  I  find  Sir  J.  Lubbock  spells  Chloeon 
(?)  as  I  do,  so  I  have  left  it.  Trostritica  (?)  is  an 
awful  blunder  and  ...  I  felt  I  was  in  error, 
but  stupidly  I  did  not  look  to  any  book.  I  am 
always  blundering  in  names  and  scientific  terms. 
About  Snipes  gross  oversight  in  reasoning,  but 
this  must  stand  till  new  edit,  if  there  ever  is  one. 
In  Vol  2  I  remember  in  2d  revise  correcting  Call- 
horrhinus  (?)  and  Delianus  (?)  so  I  hope  they  are 
correct  in  clean  sheets.  Again  accept  my  cordial 
thanks.  Yours  sincerely 

CH.  DARWIN— 

Good  God  how  glad  I  shall  be  when  I  can  drive 
the  whole  of  the  confounded  book  out  of  my  head. 
So  you  will  be  ...  I  have  of  course  accepted 
all  your  corrections  except  Chloeon — 

Passing  from  literature  and  science  to  the- 
ology, or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  to  pulpit 
eloquence,  we  find  the  autograph  of  John  Wes- 
ley, father  of  Methodism,  a  worthy  and  vener- 
able figure,  justly  famous  for  all  time.  It  is 
said  that  he  married,  when  past  fifty,  a  lady 
of  apparent  piety  who  treated  him  abominably, 
and  who  abandoned  him  after  robbing  him  of 
important  papers,  whereupon  he  calmly  said: 
"  Non  earn  reliqm,  non  dimisi,  non  revocabo." 
He  writes  to  his  sister : 
17  257 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

April  I,  1773. 

MY  DEAR  SISTER,— I  do  not  wonder  that  Mr. 
Fleming  (?)  should  not  countenance  them  now; 
but  that  he  should  ever  do  it  at  all.  He  is  not  a 
man  that  will  swim  against  ye  stream.  I  am 
heartily  glad  Charles  Harrison  has  made  so  wise 
a  choice.  If  he  is  a  good  Husband,  I  am  fully 
persuaded  she  will  make  a  good  Wife.  I  shall  hope 
there  will  be  a  good  understanding  between  Her 
and  you.  You  are  permitted  to  be  in  heaviness 
to  humble  &  prove  you  yet  more.  Then  you  shall 
come  forth  as  Gold.  If  you  love  me,  you  will  both 
write  and  speak  freely  to 

My  Dear  Sister 
Your  affectionate  Brother 
J.  WESLEY 

The  great  Methodist  naturally  brings  to  our 
minds  the  great  Quaker,  the  founder  of  the 
commonwealth  of  Pennsylvania.  I  cannot  cord- 
ially recommend  William  Penn  as  a  setter  of 
copies  for  school-boys.  Penn  was  a  distinguish- 
ed personage,  deserving  of  honor,  but  his  chirog- 
raphy  is  as  bad  as  that  of  Richard  Monckton 
Milnes.  I  have  toiled  over  his  letter  with  patient 
diligence,  and  this  is  the  best  that  I  can  do 
with  it.  Please  to  append,  as  in  mercantile 
accounts,  the  letters  "E.  &  0.  E.": 

MY  RESPECTED  SIR,— I  received  a  very  civil 
lettr  from  thee  by  Col.  Rchd  Hill,  in  favour  of  his 
concerns  in  this  Province.  So  worthy  a  Solicitor, 
So  ingeneous  a  gentleman  &  my  own  inclinations 

258 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  be  just  to  all  but  kind  to  straingers,  could  hardly 
want  my  endeavours  to  do  him  all  the  friendly  acts 
in  my  power;  I  wish  ye  ill  condition  he  found  this 
matter  ...  in  had  not  disabled  me  from 
persueing  his  right  and  my  own  desires,  but  wt 
could  well  be  done,  rebus  sic  standibus,  I  hope  he 
will  say  was  done,  &  that  which  remains  is  that  as 
this  business  gave  occasion  for  an  unexpected 
corrispondence,  it  may  be  improved  with  less  tragedy 
&  better  success  of  venture  to  claime  a  further 
share  of  thy  friendship,  upon  ye  score  of  an  old 
intimacy  with  a  nephew  of  thyne  Sr.  John  Chitch- 
ley,  &  to  assure  you  yt  on  all  occasions  I  shall  be 
glad  to  show  my  selfe 

Thy  very  true  Frd — 

WM  PENN 
CHESTER,  15—12  m  Jan.  82. 

I  despair  of  finding  out  what  the  date  means, 
but  perhaps  it  is  not  worth  while  to  try.  The 
letter  was  written  to  Sir  Henry  Chichley. 

Any  one  may  see,  on  looking  at  the  portrait 
of  Sir  Samuel  Egerton  Brydges  in  the  "  Maclise 
Portrait  Gallery, "  that  the  old  bibliographer, 
occasional  poet  and  novelist,  was  a  peculiar 
personage — an  eccentric  genealogist,  antiquary, 
and  litterateur.  The  picture  represents  him 
to  the  casual  observer  as  a  strangely  dressed 
gentleman  of  African  descent.  Brydges  en- 
joys the  honor  of  frequent  quotation,  but,  as  in 
almost  every  instance  of  industrious,  laborious 

259 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

oddity,  his  books  are  commonly  to  be  found 
reposing  among  the  dust-covered  inhabitants 
of  the  back  shelves,  containing  a  mine  of  in- 
formation, but  too  voluminous  and  ill-arranged 
to  be  useful  to  any  but  the  curious  seekers  after 
knowledge.  His  letter  is  sufficiently  charac- 
teristic : 

GENEVA,  Friday  morning, 
Private.  3  May,  31 

MR.  VALPY, 

DEAR  SIR, — I  here  send  2  sheets  with  con- 
tents for  heads  of  chaptrs  I  &  2  —  rejecting 
what  has  been  before  sent.  These  will  shew  you 
the  nature  of  my  work — but  the  truth  is  to  come! 
I  have  sworn  to  myself  to  be  frank  and  to  use  no 
varnish  or  vanity.  I  have  (out  of  the  Bridgewater 
Library)  a  copy  of  George  Withers  Halleluiah, 
of  which  only  one  other  copy  is  known — far  the 
best  of  all  Withers'  works.  I  want  it  reprinted; 
but  will  never  again  print  anything  here.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  not  be  inclined  to  take  the  hazard 
on  yourself.  It  is  a  little  I2mo  vol.  Heber  has  the 
only  other  copy.  A  small  impression  wd  pay 
expenses:  it  has  great  intrinsic  merit:  and  is  ap- 
plicable to  life,  and  the  morals  of  all  ages. 

I  wd  take  the  trouble  to  transcribe  it  and  send 
you  the  copy — &  perhaps  if  you  decline,  Pickering 
will  take  it.  As  you  are  the  classical  printer, 
permit  me  to  mention  to  you  that  I  think  the  fol- 
lowing may  give  some  light  to  the  dispute  noticed 
I  think  by  Bishop  Blomfield,  whether  Stanley  in 
his  Aeschylus,  borrowed  from  Casaubon?  Mene 

Casaubon  (Isaac's  son)  was  Rector  of  [il- 

260 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

legible]  near  Canterbury.  Stanley's  mother  was 
daughter  of  Sr  Wrn  Hammond  of  St.  Albans  Court 
— a  parish  about  5  miles  off.  Cd  not  Stanley  thus 
thro'  Mene"  C.  have  access  to  his  father  Isaac's 
Mss.?  There  are  descendants  of  Mene  Casaubon 
at  Canterbury — viz.  Mr.  Wm  Chandler,  a  surgeon, 

and  his  cousin  the  Revd.   Philip  L ,  Rector 

or  Vicar  of  a  parish  on  the  Weald,  near  Maidstone 
(I  think  Harden),  a  magistrate  of  W.  Kent.  I 
have  heard  they  have  Mss.  of  Casaubon.  I  am 
anxious  to  establish  a  weekly  or  fortnightly  Review 
of  only  3  or  4  sheets;  each  no  to  contain  only  one 
article — which  wd  make  a  whole  in  itself.  I  am 
disappointed  at  the  last  No  of  Q.  R.  tho'  the  review 
of  Tennyson  is  witty  enough. 

Yrs, 

S.  E.  B. 

Whether  Angelica  Kauffman  was  a  great 
painter  or  not,  she  was  popular  in  her  day,  and 
was  the  first  woman  to  achieve  success  in  por- 
traiture or  in  historical  subjects.  "  Miss  Angel/' 
as  her  great  master,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  loved 
to  call  her,  must  have  been  an  attractive  person. 
It  was  supposed  that  she  would  become  Lady 
Reynolds,  but  that  was  not  to  be;  and  Fuseli 
and  Dance  both  paid  court  to  her.  She  formed 
an  unfortunate  alliance,  from  which  she  was 
released  by  divorce;  and  at  thirty  she  married 
one  Antonio  Zucchi,  with  whom  she  went  to 
Italy,  not  to  return  to  England.  She  writes  to 
some  unnamed  patron— the  spelling  preserved : 

261 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ROM.  Nov.  the  8.  1788. 

SIR, — I  take  the  liberty  to  trouble  you  with  a 
few  lines  to  acquaint  you  that  I  am  now  giving 
the  last  touches  to  your  two  Pictures,  the  two  gentle- 
men of  Verona,  and  the  other  of  Troilus  and  Cre- 
sida — before  this  reaches  your  hands  they  will  be 
both  finished — I  endeavoured  to  do  the  utmost  in 
my  power  to  render  them  not  unworthy  of  your 
collection.  I  find  in  one  of  your  letters — that 
in  answer  to  the  objection  I  made  respecting  to  the 
other  two  subjects  thee  pointed  out  for  me — you 
was  so  kind  as  to  say  that,  when  the  two  I  had 
fixed  upon  where  finished  you  would  find  out  some 
others  instead  of  them — in  consequence  of  which 
I  shall  be  in  attention  of  your  determination  re- 
specting that  point,  and  allso  in  regard  to  the  for- 
warding the  same  pictures,  as  very  likely  you  have 
your  corrispondent  in  Leghorn  to  whose  care  per- 
haps you  would  wish  to  have  them  recommended 
— in  case  you  should  like  in  the  mean  time  to  get 
the  frames  done  for  the  sayd  pictures.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Zucchi's  best  compts  wait  on  you  and  pray  re- 
member us  both  to  .  I  have  the  honour 

to  be  with  great  respect,  sir, 

Your  most  obliged 

humble  servt 
ANGELICA  KAUFFMAN. 

Hiram  Powers,  who  made  himself  famous  by 
his  "Greek  Slave/'  and  who  was  once  our  lead- 
ing American  sculptor,  displays  the  irritabilit\7 
of  genius  in  his  letter  to  R.  H.  Wilde,  the  states- 
man and  writer,  whose  only  remembered  verses 

262  ' 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

are  those  which  begin  "My  life  is  like  a  sum- 
mer rose/'  It  seems  that  there  was  a  con- 
troversy between  Powers  and  Martin  Van  Buren, 
and  we  do  not  presume  to  pass  judgment,  be- 
cause we  have  not  the  Van  Buren  side  of  the 
story.  This  is  what  Powers  writes,  from  Flor- 
ence, on  October  14,  1841 : 

.  Eve  is  still  in  clay  —  but  almost 
ready  for  a  change  to  plaister.  Mr.  Thorwaldsen 
has  lately  favored  me  with  a  visit,  and  his  remarks 
were  of  the  most  satisfactory  description.  He 
did  not  hesitate  to  touch  the  clay  wherever  he 
thought  a  change  necessary,  and  you  will  be 
pleased  to  learn  that  the  head,  trunk  and  legs 
of  the  figure  from  top  to  base,  met  with  his  appro- 
bation. .  .  .  Mr.  Van  Buren  has  played  me 
a  trick  somewhat  in  keeping  with  his  political 
character.  He  denies  any  knowledge  of  having 
ordered  his  bust  of  me!  and  that  too  after  I  had 
sent  it  in  marble  to  Messrs.  Goodhue  &c — subject 
to  his  order.  Luckily  Mr.  Clevenger  has  given 
me  his  evidence  in  writing  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten the  order  eighteen  months  after  he  had 
requested  me  to  make  the  bust.  He  (Mr.  V.  B.) 
sat  to  Mr.  Clevenger  for  another  bust  and  during 
the  time  so  occupied  often  alluded  to  the  bust  I  had 
modeled  and  to  his  having  ordered  it  in  marble — 
his  sons  also  spoke  of  it  in  a  way  to  prove  that  they 
also  knew  of  the  whole  matter,  and  yet  Mr.  John 
Van  Buren  wrote  the  letter  to  me  denying  any 
knowledge  of  the  transaction.  I  have  directed 
Messrs.  Goodhue  &  Co.  to  have  the  bust  sold  at 

263 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

auction,  after  publishing  a  full  account  of  the 
affair  in  the  papers — what  they  have  done — as 
yet — I  know  not — on  my  stating  to  Mr.  Clevenger 
that  Mr.  Van  Buren  denied  any  knowledge  of 
the  order,  he  instantly  proposed  to  take  his  bust 
of  Mr.  Van  Buren  out  doors  and  throw  stones  at  it 
— so  indignant  was  he  at  such  meanness  on  the 
part  of  an  ex-President  of  the  United  States.  If 
the  bust  has  not  been  sold,  or  Mr.  Van  Buren  comes 
to  his  recollection,  I  intend  to  modify  it  in  such  a 
manner  as  shall  make  his  heirs  willing  to  give 
more  than  double  the  amount  charged  for  it. 

Without  attempting  to  decide  the  issue  be- 
tween Powers  and  the  ex-President,  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  the  artist  betrayed  a  reprehensible 
spirit.  He  shows  a  pettiness  of  nature  by  the 
threat  of  making  his  subject  ridiculous  if  his 
demands  should  not  be  complied  with.  This 
might  justly  be  called  a  sculptural  "hold-up/' 
Conceding  that  he  was  treated  shabbily — as 
to  which  point  we  have  no  testimony  but  his 
own— he  was  not  justified  in  "modifying"  the 
bust  to  the  disadvantage  of  Mr.  Van  Buren. 
Undoubtedly  Powers  was  fettered  by  his  lowly 
origin  and  humble  beginnings. 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury has  passed  since  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich's 
first  book  appeared,  in  the  brown  cloth  binding 
of  the  period— a  slender  volume  of  one  hundred 
and  forty-four  pages.  One  does  not  associate 

264 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

him  with  age,  for  there  is  a  youthful  quality 
about  his  prose  and  his  poetry;  and  while  his 
work  is  always  excellent,  the  delicious  tales  of 
boyhood  at  Portsmouth  seem  to  me  to  be  the 
most  fascinating.  I  see  by  a  recent  bibliog- 
raphy, prepared  by  that  discriminating  and 
industrious  expert,  Ernest  North,  that  TJw 
Story  of  a  Bad  Boy  appears  in  these  various 
guises — in  Dutch,  French,  German,  and  Danish : 

"En  slem  Dreunge  Historic  af  Thomas  Bailey 

Aldrich/' 

"Un  Ecolier  Americain." 
"Die  Geschichte  eines  bosen  Buben  und  drei  an- 

dere  schone  von  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich." 
"En   Slem   Drengs    Historic   af   Thomas  Bailey 

Aldrich." 

The  Danish  illustrations  must  be  exceeding!}' 
amusing. 
Aldrich  writes  to  Osgood,  the  publisher : 

PONKAPOG,  MASS. 

Aug  13,  1880 

MY  DEAR  OSGOOD, — Miss  Sprague's  address 
is  Charlemont,  Mass.  You  will  see  by  this  that 
I  am  responding  for  Bugbee,  who  on  leaving  us 
for  a  trip  down  east,  requested  me  to  open  any  of 
his  letters  that  had  an  expression  on  their  faces 
of  desiring  an  immediate  answer.  I  thought  yours 
was  an  invitation  to  a  farewell  dinner  at  the  Somer- 
set Club,  and  I  intended  to  come  in  Bugbee's  place. 
Ever  yours, 

T.  B.  ALDRICH— 
265 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Mr.  Aldrich  seems  inclined  to  enjoy  the  repose 
he  has  earned,  for  he  has  given  us  no  book  since 
1896.  Perhaps  it  is  only  a  pleasure  deferred. 

I  have  often  wondered  that  literary  men  are 
so  willing  to  confide  to  the  world  their  methods 
of  work.  One  would  suppose  that  they  would 
keep  such  things  to  themselves;  but  it  is  other- 
wise, and  almost  all  of  the  brotherhood  appear 
to  gush  confidences  in  that  regard.  Edmund 
Gosse  has  done  some  admirable  things,  and, 
although  he  still  lives,  I  may  perhaps  be  par- 
doned for  giving  his  own  description  of  his 
methods : 

LONDON,  July  20, 1884. 
DEAR  SIR, — In  reply  to  your  questions — 

1.  My  work  being   multiform   and  very  press- 
ing, I  have  no  choice  between  the  day  and  night. 
I  must  use  both.     The  central  hours  of  the  day 
being  given  up  to  my  official  business  for  the  gov- 
ernment, which  consists  of  translations  from  the 
various  European  languages,   only  the  morning 
and  evening  remain  for  literary  work.     My  books 
have  mainly  been  written  between  8  and  1 1  P.M. 
&  corrected  for  the  press  between  9  and  10  A.M. 
I  find  the  afternoon  almost  a  useless  time,  the 
physical  clock-work  of  the  24  hours  seems  to  run 
down  about  4  P.M. 

2.  I    make   no  written    skeleton  or  first  draft. 
My  first  draft  is  what  goes  to  the  printers  &  com- 
monly with  very  few  alterations.     I  round  off  my 

266 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

sentences  in  my  head  before  committing  them  to 
paper. 

3.  I  use  no  stimulants   at  work.      I  take  wine 
twice  a  day,  but  after  dinner  I  neither  eat  nor  drink. 
I  have  found  this  essential  to  my  health  and  power 
of  work.     The  only  exception  I  make  is,  that  as 
I  am  closing  for  the  night, — a  little  before  II  P.  M. 
— I  take  several  cups  of  very  strong  tea,  which 
I  have  proved  by  experience  to  be  by  far  the  best 
sedative  for  my  nerves.     If  I  go  to  bed  immediately 
after  this  strong  tea,  at  the  close  of  a  hard  day's 
work,  I  generally  sleep  soundly  as  soon  as  my 
head  is  on  the  pillow.     Coffee  keeps  me  awake 
and  so  does  alcohol.     I  have  tried  doing  without 
wine,  but  have  always  returned  to  it  with  benefit. 
I  have  entirely  given    up    tobacco,  which  never 
suited  me. 

4.  I  can  work  anywhere,  if  I  am  not  distracted. 
I  have  no  difficulty  in  writing  in  unfamiliar  places, 
— the  waiting  room  of  a  railway  station  or  a  rock 
on  the  sea-shore  suits  me  as  well  (except  for  the 
absence  of  books  of  reference)  as  the  desk  in  my 
study. 

5.  I  cannot  do  literary  or  any  other  brain-work 
for  more  than  3  hours  on  a  stretch.     I  believe  that 
a  man  who  will  work  3  hours  of  every  working 
day  will  ultimately  appear  to  have  achieved  a 
stupendous  result  in  bulk,  if  this  is  an  advantage. 
But,  then,  he  must  be  rapid  while  he  is  at  work, 
&  must  not  fritter  away  his  resources  on  starts 
in  vain  directions. 

6.  I  am  utterly  unable  to  write  to  order,  that 
is  to  say  on  every  occasion. — I  can  generally  write, 
but  there  are  occasions  when  for  weeks  I  am  con- 

267 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

scious  of  an  invincible  disinclination,  and  this  I 
never  force.  Consequently  I  am  by  temperament 
unfitted  for  journalism,  in  which  I  have  happily 
never  been  obliged  to  take  any  part. 

In  the  above  notes  I  have  been  speaking  en- 
tirely of  prose  composition.  Verse  gets  itself 
written  at  odd  times  without  rule  or  precedent 
and  of  course  cannot  be  submitted  to  rule.  But 
my  experience  is  that  the  habit  of  regular  applica- 
tion is  beneficial  to  the  production  of  prose.  .  .  . 
Yours  faithfully, 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 

This  is  rather  funny,  because  the  writer  takes 
himself  seriously;  and  so  many  men  of  brains 
work  continuously  so  many  more  hours  than 
three  in  each  day!  Gosse's  labors  are  mere 
dalliance  compared  with  the  work  of  the  states- 
man, or  even  of  the  lawyer,  who  works  hard 
every  day  for  three  times  three  hours.  But 
literary  men  are  entitled  to  our  indulgence,  and 
they  must  not  be  judged  by  ordinary  standards. 


XVI 

THE  war  of  the  American  Revolution  was 
not  a  great  war  from  a  military  point 
of  view.  The  numbers  engaged  were  small, 
the  strategic  feats  were  insignificant,  and  the 
campaigns  were  of  trifling  magnitude.  Only 
the  results  entitle  it  to  admiration.  We  are 
accustomed  to  revere  the  generals  who  led 
the  Continental  forces  in  their  struggle  dur- 
ing those  eventful  seven  years,  and  it  is  not  to 
the  disparagement  of  our  commanders  that  the 
armies  which  they  led  were  meagre  and  in- 
considerable. The  difficulties  they  encountered 
were  as  great  in  proportion  to  their  power  of 
overcoming  them  as  if  these  plucky  soldiers  had 
been  the  leaders  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands 
who  contended  on  the  battle-fields  of  the  war 
of  the  Rebellion.  Washington's  work  at  Tren- 
ton and  Princeton  has  won  the  praises  of  even 
English  military  critics,  and  it  turned  the  tide 
setting  so  strongly  against  the  cause  of  in- 
dependence. The  campaigns  of  Napoleon,  Von 
Moltke,  and  Grant  were  more  remarkable  in  the 

269 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

matter  of  the  number  of  combatants,  but  not 
more  wonderful  in  their  conception,  their  execu- 
tion, or  their  consequences. 

Naturally,  the  first  letter  of  a  general  of  the 
Revolution  must  be  one  of  George  Washington. 
Among  a  number  addressed  to  General  James 
Mitchell  Varnum,  this  one  is  perhaps  as  good 
an  example  of  his  military  style  as  we  may 
select.  It  is  dated  at  Morristown,  March  3, 1777 : 

I  have  the  pleasure  of  congratulating  you  upon 
your  appointment  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier  General 
in  the  Continental  Army.  Your  commission  shall  be 
forwarded  to  you  as  soon  as  it  comes  to  my  hands. 
It  will  bear  date  from  2 1st  last  month.  I  beg  you 
will  make  use  of  your  utmost  exertions  to  raise 
and  equip  the  two  Battalions  allotted  to  your  State, 
which  by  a  letter  from  Gov.  Cook,  I  hope  will  be 
soon  done.  I  have  recommended  innoculation  to 
all  Recruits  in  the  new  Army,  who  have  not  had 
the  small-pox,  and  I  desire  that  as  fast  as  yours 
are  inlisted,  they  may  be  sent  to  some  convenient 
place  and  there  take  the  infection.  By  these 
means,  no  time  will  be  lost,  for  the  men  will  go 
thro'  the  disorder,  while  their  arms  and  cloaths  are 
preparing.  You  will  from  time  to  time  make  me 
returns  of  the  number  of  men  enlisted,  and  in  what 
forwardness  they  are  in  for  service. — 

Another  letter  of  Washington  to  General  Var- 
num, bearing  three  lines  of  endorsement  by 
Robert  H.  Harrison,  later  to  be  appointed  a 
Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 

270 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

States,  may  be  worthy  of  reproduction,  for  it 
shows  the  general's  careful  supervision  of  the 
details  of  his  campaigns: 

HEAD  QRS  AT  FREDERICK  WOMPOL'S 
9  Oct.,  1777. 

SIR, — I  received  your  letter  early  this  morning 
by  the  return  of  the  Express. 

Since  the  order  given  for  the  march  of  Colo. 
Green's  and  Angel's  Regiments,  some  circum- 
stances have  cast  up,  which  from  appearances, 
make  so  large  a  number  of  Continental  Troops 
at  Red  Bank  unnecessary.  I  therefore  desire 
that  you  will  on  receipt  of  this  send  the  express 
to  Colo.  Angel,  to  return  immediately  with  his 
regiment,  and  to  join  this  Army,  as  soon  as  he 
can.  I  am  much  surprised  to  find  the  Troops 
were  on  the  road  to  Coriel's  Ferry,  and  only  ten 
miles  from  it,  after  I  had  pointed  out  the  proper 
Rout  in  the  most  plain  and  direct  terms.  You 
will  write  Colo  Greene  on  the  subject,  and  order 
him  to  pursue  the  way  mentioned  in  his  Instruc- 
tions. He  will  lose  no  time  in  getting  to  Red 
Bank  with  his  regiment.  My  Intention  was,  that 
you  and  Gen'l  Huntingdon  should  join  me  this 
morning  with  the  remainder  of  the  troops,  and  so 
I  thought  I  expressed  myself.  You  are  to  do  it. 

I  am,  sir, 

Yr.  Most  obed't  ser't 
(Postscript)  G-  WASHINGTON 

If  the  weather  should  prove  unfit  for  Troops  to 
march,  you  will  remain  where  you  are  till  it  is 
suitable.  By  command, 

ROBT.  H.  HARRISON 
271 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

The  name  of  Benedict  Arnold  has  been  held 
up  to  execration  ever  since  his  treason,  but 
he  was  a  brave  man  and  a  good  soldier,  who 
yielded  to  a  feeling  of  resentment  at  what  he 
believed,  perhaps  excusably,  to  be  unjust  treat- 
ment. He  was  also  convinced  that  the  leaders 
of  his  countrymen  were,  after  all,  a  selfish  lot, 
intent  on  personal  profit  and  aggrandizement. 
Considering  what  John  Adams  wrote  of  one 
of  the  Continental  Congresses,  it  may  be  that 
Arnold  was  not  far  wrong.  His  betrayal  of 
his  trust  was,  of  course,  unpardonable,  but  it 
was  not  wholly  without  provocation.  Brave 
as  he  was,  he  was  a  jealous,  difficult  person  at 
the  best,  and  his  treatment  of  every  one  who 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  shows  how 
impossible  it  was  to  deal  reasonably  with  him. 
Our  respect  for  Washington  is  increased  by 
our  knowledge  of  the  kindness  and  patience 
with  which  he  bore  the  pettishness  and  discon- 
tent of  his  gallant  but  insubordinate  brigadier 
— a  patience  exhausted  only  when  the  misguid- 
ed, hot-tempered,  wrong -minded  Arnold  com- 
mitted the  gravest  offence  of  which  a  soldier 
may  be  guilty,  and  sacrificed  honor  and  all 
of  which  a  good  man  may  be  proud  in  a  blind 
surrender  to  angry  impulse. 

Arnold  writes  to  the  Governor  of  Rhode 
Island : 

272 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

PHILADELPHIA,  March  20, 1780. 

SIR,— The  President  &  Council  of  the  State 
of  Pennsylvania  having  published  &  officially 
transmitted  to  the  different  States,  sundry  Res- 
olutions of  theirs  dated  Philadelphia,  Feby  3d 
1779,  containing  heavy  charges  tending  to  prej- 
udice the  minds  of  my  Fellow  Citizens  against  me, 
previous  to  a  Trial,  which  with  much  difficulty 
I  have  at  last  obtained.  The  justice  due  to  my  own 
character  (and  to  the  Public  who  have  been  so 
greatly  deceived)  will,  I  trust,  cause  the  liberty  I 
have  taken  in  transmitting  to  your  Excellency  the 
Proceedings  of  the  Court  Martial  on  my  Trial; 
which  I  must  request  you  will  do  me  the  Favor 
to  lay  before  the  Council  &  General  Assembly,  as  I 
would  wish  to  take  off  from  the  minds  of  those 
Gentlemen  every  unfavorable  Impression  which 
the  unprecedented  Publication  of  the  President  & 
Council  of  Pennsylvania  may  have  made,  &  to  con- 
vince them  that  my  Character  has  been  most  cruelly 
&  unjustly  aspersed. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be,  with  the  greatest  respect — 
Your  Excellency's  most  obedient  and 
very  humble  servant 

His  Excellency  B.   ARNOLD 

GOVERNOR  GREENE. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  ability  of 
Aaron  Burr,  as  a  lawyer,  a  soldier,  and  a  poli- 
tician. Whatever  may  be  the  judgment  of 
men  upon  his  integrity  or  his  morality,  we  must 
admit  the  brilliancy  of  his  intellect.  He  lacked 
the  principles  of  an  honest  man,  the  character 
which  often  counts  for  more  than  mere  brains, 
.s  273 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

He  barely  missed  the  highest  prizes  of  public 
life.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  was  a  traitor  to 
his  country  in  thought  or  deed,  but  he  frightened 
Jefferson  and  shocked  the  conservative  element 
of  the  community,  which  feared  Jefferson  almost 
as  much  as  it  dreaded  Burr.  He  had  a  dream 
of  empire  in  the  Southwest,  which  faded  away 
because  it  was  absurd  and  impossible;  but  there 
is  no  proof  that  he  ever  meant  to  destroy  the 
union  of  the  States. 

Singularly  enough,  one  of  my  Burr  letters  is 
associated  with  an  autograph  of  Thomas  Con- 
way,  a  member  of  the  cabal  which  secretly 
sought  to  undermine  the  authority  of  Washing- 
ton. He  was  called  "Count  de  Con  way"; 
an  Irish  adventurer,  he  busied  himself  in  in- 
trigues. As  we  look  back  upon  that  time, 
we  can  see  how  petty  and  ineffective  were  the 
wire-pullers  who  aimed  at  the  dethronement  of 
the  general-in-chief,  and  who  cared  little  for 
the  cause  of  independence;  but  they  were  dan- 
gerous, and  it  required  courage,  firmness,  and 
personal  power  to  defeat  them.  Luckily  for  our 
country,  Conway  went  away  to  join  the  French, 
who  made  him  Count,  Field-Marshal,  and  Gov- 
ernor of  the  French  East  Indies.  As  the  chil- 
dren say,  it  was  a  good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish. 
He  is  well  associated  with  Aaron  Burr,  and  this 
is  the  record : 

274 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

SIR, — The  Papers  and  Cloathing  of  the  Comps 
which  have  lately  joined  Mahone's  Regimt.  are 
at  Bethlem.  The  Papers  are  now  wanted  and 
several  of  the  officers  cannot  appear  decent  till 
they  receive  other  cloathes  for  these  reasons  I  would 
beg  your  indulgence  for  Leave  of  absence  for  two 
Subalterns,  six  days — their  Presence  is  not  par- 
ticularly necessary  with  their  Companies.  I  am, 
sir,  with  the  greatest  esteem,  your  very  humble 
servant — 

A.  BURR. 

Sunday  n  o'clock — 

[Nov.  1777] 
HONBLE  GEN.  CONWAY. 

Col.  Burr  is  master  to  send  such  officers  as 
he  thinks  requisite  in  order  to  procure  the  papers 
wanted  and  the  cloths  for  the  use  of  his  regiment. 

T.  CONWAY— 

Another  member  of  the  combination  against 
^Washington— indeed,  the  one  who  was  put  for- 
ward as  the  leader,  although  he  was  but  the 
merest  figure-head — was  Horatio  Gates,  the  al- 
leged hero  of  Saratoga,  who  profited  by  the  fore- 
sight and  energy  of  Philip  Schuyler  and  the 
bravery  of  Benedict  Arnold  and  Daniel  Morgan. 
He  won,  or  had  the  credit  of  winning,  the  victory 
over  Burgoyne,  a  result  accomplished  by  a  va- 
riety of  circumstances  for  which  Gates  was  in 
no  way  responsible;  and  for  a  brief  time  it 
was  a  question  whether  his  temporary  glory 
would  enable  him  to  supplant  his  chief.  Gates 

275 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

was  weak  rather  than  vicious,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  meant  to  be  patriotic  and  honor- 
able; he  lacked  real  military  intelligence  and 
true  capacity  for  leadership;  and  his  vanity 
led  him  to  permit  himself  to  be  used  as  a  tool. 
His  letter  has  an  honest  ring  about  it: 

WHITE  PLAINS,  2d  July,  1778. 

DEAR  SIR, — Inclosed  I  send  you  a  copy  of  a 
letter  just  received  from  General  Washington.  I 
most  heartily  wish  you  joy  of  the  good  news,  and 
impatiently  expect  the  Particulars  of  the  Action, 
which  his  Excellency  has  promised  to  send  me. 
In  consequence  of  my  earnest  wish,  and  the  Gen- 
eral's Recommendation,  I  must  beg  you  to  give 
your  whole  attention  to  the  compleating  of,  first, 
the  Out  Works  at  West  Point,  and  then  the  Body 
of  the  Place.  Col.  Kusciuskeo,  cannot  be  too 
vigilant  in  this  important  Service. 

I  am,  Dear  General,  your  affectionate 
Humble  Servant 

HORATIO  GATES. 

P.S.  I  desire  the  Favour  of  you,  to  transmit 
His  Excellency  Govr.  Clinton,  a  copy  of  Genl. 
Washington's  Letter  by  Express. 

HONBLE  B.  GEN.  GLOVER, 
WEST  POINT. 

The  army  of  the  Revolution  owed  a  memora- 
ble debt  to  Friedrich  Wilhelm  August  Heinrich 
Ferdinand,  Baron  von  Steuben,  formerly  grand- 
marshal  to  the  court  of  the  Prince  of  Hohen- 
zollern-Hechingen,  and,  through  Silas  Deane, 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

persuaded  to  lend  his  aid  to  the  cause  of  Amer- 
ica, turning  the  desolate  camp  of  Valley  Forge 
into  "a  training-school  of  arms,  teaching, 
what  these  troops  had  never  known  before, 
promptness  and  precision  in  the  manual  of 
arms,  in  mass  and  ordered  movement,  in  the 
use  of  the  bayonet,  the  drill,  and  mastery  of 
the  charge  and  of  the  open  field/'  He  wrote 
to  an  old  comrade  in  Prussia:  "You  say  to 
your  soldier,  'Do  this/  and  he  doeth  it;  I  am 
obliged  to  say  to  mine,  '  This  is  the  reason  why 
you  ought  to  do  that/  and  then  he  does  it/' 
Yet  he  liked  us  well  enough  to  serve  faithfully 
during  the  war  and  to  end  his  life  here  in  1794. 
He  writes : 

SIR, — I  enclose  your  excellency  an  abstract  of 
the  state  of  the  forces  of  this  State  drawn  from 
the  Returns — by  this  you  will  observe  that  sup- 
posing no  deficiency  arises  in  the  3000  men  voted 
&  that  the  number  now  in  the  field  does  not  dimin- 
ish 1844  men  will  still  be  wanting  of  the  Quota 
determined  by  Congress.  With  respect 
I  am 

Your  Excellency's 

J any  30.  1781.  Most  obed.  Servt — 

STEUBEN 
Gov.  JEFFERSON—  Maj.  Gen. 

One  of  the  minor  generals  who  fought  under 
Gates  at  Saratoga  was  John  Glover,  and  he 

1  Washington,  Woodrow  Wilson,  p.  200. 
277 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

was  a  gallant  fellow,  who  vindicated  the  title 
of  the  Marblehead  Yankees  to  fame  as  ferocious 
fighters.  Glover's  name  has  long  ago  faded 
from  memory,  and  only  the  collectors  of  "  Rev- 
olutionary Generals"  give  him  the  tribute  of 
attention  or  respect;  but  there  is  a  natural 
vigor  about  this  letter  to  his  wife  which  en- 
dears him  to  me: 

ON  THE  RIGHTS  3  MILES  ABOVE  STIL WATER, 
Sept.  26  1777. 

MY  DEAR,  —  I  wrote  you  the  21  since  which 
nothing  material  has  happened,  saveing  last  night 
I  went  down  with  a  party  of  men  &  supprizd  the 
Enemys  Piquet  took  one  Prisoner  killed  seven 
took  seven  knapsacks  &  guns — one  sword  7  Blan- 
kets— by  3  Deserters  from  the  enemy  we  are  in- 
formd  they  had  killed  &  wounded  in  the  battale  of 
ye  1 9th  746,  we  had  only  I  oo  killed  202  wounded 
part  of  which  are  since  Dead.  Thank  God,  I  am 
well,  hope  this  will  find  you  &  children  so  to  whom 
give  my  Love  &  best  affections,  &  regards  to  all 
friends,  &  believe  me  to  be  most  Sincerely  yours,  &c. 

JOHN  GLOVER— 

To  MRS.  HANNAH  GLOVER, 
Marblehead. 

Another  general  of  little  notoriety,  but  who 
was  a  brave  officer  and  distinguished  in  his 
time,  was  Mordecai  Gist,  of  Maryland.  His 
letter  shows  that  in  those  days  of  patriotic 
fervor  there  were  hostilities  among  our  revered 
ancestors  which  seriously  threatened  to  disrupt 

278 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

the  temporary  union  of  Americans  against  the 
invading  English.  It  is  a  matter  of  wonder 
that  all  these  minor  quarrels  and  feuds  were 
buried  at  last,  and  that  personal  enmities  dis- 
appeared so  completely  that  the  record  of  them 
is  growing  faint  and  almost  indecipherable. 
Gist's  letter  gives  us  a  little  insight  into  some 
of  the  lesser  troubles  of  the  period : 

BALTIMORE,  zgth  April,  1777. 

SIR,  —  By  a  letter  from  Colonel  Ramsay  I  find 
that  the  evil  genius  of  some  individuals  has  prompt- 
ed them  to  vent  their  spleen  and  111  nature  in  a 
most  unmanly  way  by  propagating  a  report  of 
my  having  wrote  to  Congress  and  General  Wash- 
ington refusing  for  particular  purposes  to  march 
to  Camp  which  the  General  considered  as  a  resig- 
nation, the  particulars  I  understand  you  are  made 
acquainted  with.  I  consider  the  author  of  this 
absurdity  more  entitled  to  my  pity  than  resent- 
ment, and  had  I  not  been  assured  of  its  gaining  a 
degree  of  Credit  with  some  of  the  members  of  your 
House,  I  should  not  have  troubled  you  on  this 
occasion,  as  I  am  truly  conscious  that  no  action 
or  conduct  of  mine  can  give  a  sanction  to  such 
report,  with  the  least  plausibility  of  truth,  and 
can  assure  you  I  never  in  my  life  had  the  honour 
to  address  Congress  or  General  Washington  by 
Letter  on  any  subject  whatever,  except  a  few  lines 
to  Mr.  Hancock  (from  Annapolis)  respecting  the 
proceedings  of  the  Assembly  of  this  State. 

Your  knowledge  of  me  for  a  considerable  term 
of  years  has  not  only  made  you  acquainted  with 

279 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

my  principles  and  attachment  to  my  country  but 
also  given  you  an  idea  of  my  business  in  Trade, 
and  of  the  unsettled  manner  I  was  under  the  neces- 
sity of  leaving  my  Books  both  here  and  on  the 
Eastern  Shore,  when  under  marching  orders  for 

C last   year;    this   I    did  with  pleasure  and 

alacrity,  expecting  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
closing  my  Books  and  adjusting  my  partnership 
accounts  at  my  return  on  the  close  of  the  Campaign ; 
the  expedition  against  the  insurgents  in  Somerset 
and  Winchester  deprived  me  of  that  satisfaction 
and  on  my  return  from  thence  I  found  that  unavoid- 
able Circumstances  had  put  it  out  of  my  power  to 
march  immediately  without  an  evident  sacrifice  of 
near  £3000  in  consequence  of  which  I  despatched 
Colo.  Ramsay  with  the  first  division  (of  which 
I  wrote  General  Smallwood)  should  he  be  thought 
inadequate  to  the  task,  private  interest  shall  give 
way  to  Public  good,  and  the  Service  of  my  country 
shall  engage  my  attention  in  preference  to  any 
other  consideration,  but  where  this  is  not  the  case, 
Gentlemen  of  liberal  sentiments  would  think  a 
necessary  indulgence  was  due.  I  take  the  liberty 
of  calling  on  you  for  your  friendship  and  assistance 
in  discovering  this  ungenerous  author,  and  in 
removing  the  little  prejudices  the  public  may  im- 
bibe from  this  silly  report. 

I  am  dear  sir,  with  much  Respect, 

Your  mo.  Hum.  Servant — 

To  WILLIAM  SMITH  ESQR.  M.  GIST. 

Member  of  Congress  for  the  State  of  Maryland, 

Phila— 

Over    at    Baskingridge,    among    the    pictu- 
resque and  pleasant  hills  of  Somerset  County, 

280 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

New  Jersey,  they  still  show  you  the  house 
which  Mrs.  White  kept  as  a  tavern  in  1776, 
and  where  the  surly,  discontented  Charles  Lee 
was  captured  by  the  British  in  a  most  ignomin- 
ious fashion.  Lee  was  a  brave  man  and  an 
officer  of  intelligence,  but  he  was  a  passionate, 
intemperate  person,  more  ambitious  than  pa- 
triotic, and,  as  Mellick,  the  gentle  historian  of 
Somerset,  says,  with  more  accuracy  than  ele- 
gance, he  was  "constitutionally  a  sorehead/' 
He  was  disappointed  when  Washington  was 
preferred  to  him  as  commander-in-chief;  but 
his  love  of  adventure  led  him  to  accept  a  com- 
mission as  major-general,  and  he  served,  with 
many  complaints  and  much  grumbling,  until 
at  Monmouth  he  came  to  his  fall.  He  is  not 
an  agreeable  person.  His  letter  gives  a  slight 
indication  of  his  character: 

PEEKSKILL,  December  2, 1776. 

DEAR  GENERAL, — If  you  have  reason  to  think 
that  any  considerable  corps  of  the  Militia  will 
join  you  in  a  few  days,  you  may  venture  to  keep 
the  Post  you  at  present  occupy,  but  if  there  is  no 
prospect  of  such  a  junxion,  I  would  by  no  means 
have  you  remain,  as  you  might  with  your  few 
numbers,  in  a  position  which  demands  a  consider- 
able Force,  be  exposed  to  insult  or  surprize, — in 
this  case  you  should  retire  to  the  hill  where  two 
Companies  of  Fellows's  Bridage  [sic]  are  posted 
to  cover  the  Stores,  it  is  strong  by  Nature  and 

281 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

requires  little  labour  to  be  rendered  very  respectable. 
I  wish  to  God  the  Militia  may  join  you  soon  so  as 
to  enable  you  to  keep  your  present  Post — it  is 
in  my  opinion  very  important — it  protects  a  fine 
Country  of  forage  much  wanted  by  the  Enemy — 
it  covers  the  frontiers  of  Connecticut  and  keeps 
the  large  Bodies  of  Tories  in  order,  who  without 
some  such  check,  wou'd  probably  take  an  active 
part.  I  hope  you  have  detach'd  the  four  hundred 
men  to  Heath  or  his  heart  will  break.  He  is  con- 
fident that  all  the  movements  of  the  Enemy  in 
every  part  of  the  Continent  are  only  feints — that 
they  only  mean  to  weaken  him  and  that  when  he 
is  taken  all  is  taken,  all  is  lost — the  fact  is  so  many 
Men  of  the  Party  I  march'd  off  from  White  Plains 
are  so  feet  gall'd  that  without  taking  two  Regi- 
ments from  Heath  I  cou'd  not  march  a  force  suf- 
ficient to  the  Jerseys,  and  perhaps  the  fate  of 
America  depends  on  the  competency  of  my  force; 
this  number  I  have  order'd  from  you  is  to  replace 
the  two  Regiments.  Adieu  Dr  General,  let  me 
hear  from  you  on  every  occasion 

Yours, 

TO  CHARLES  LEE- 

MAJOR  GENERAL  SPENCER. 

A  more  enthusiastic  rebel  was  William  Max- 
well, with  an  Irishman's  fondness  for  fight, 
who  was  a  soldier  from  his  twenty-third  year 
until  the  close  of  the  Revolution.  He  was 
highly  esteemed  by  Washington,  and  he  com- 
manded the  New  Jersey  brigade  at  Brandywine 
and  German  town.  His  letter  is  rather  social 

282 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

than  military,  but  altogether  Irish,  and  one  can- 
not help  having  an  affection  for  Maxwell  as 
well  as  a  respect  for  his  ability  as  an  officer : 

ELIZTH  TOWN,  22d  Augt  1779— 

DEAR  PORTEOUS, — I  am  favoured  with  yours 
of  the  20th  .  .  .  This  unnatural  dispute  has 
broken  in  on  all  my  latter  schemes  of  life  and 
oeconomy,  I  had  just  seated  myself  down  at  the 
side  of  the  Mill  and  only  wanted  some  agreeable 
Female  (which  I  imagined  was  three  parts  engaged) 
to  make  me  happy  the  remainder  of  my  days. 
That  part  of  my  life  now  appears  to  have  been  a 
dream,  but  I  intend  yet,  though  at  so  late  an  hour, 
to  pursue  the  same  schemes  when  the  time  will 
admit.  I  find  you  are  in  the  Bachelor  way  still, 
if  you  will  take  a  Friend's  advice  get  out  of  it  as 
soon  as  you  can.  There  is  several  fine  young 
Ladys  in  this  Town  besides  a  great  many  in  the 
State:  when  the  present  Dispute  is  over,  if  you 
will  come  to  this  State  with  desires  of  Matrimony 
you  may  be  shure  of  my  interest,  and  I  will  with 
pleasure  take  a  leap  in  concert. 
I  am,  Dear  Porteous,  your  most 

obedt  Humble  Sert— 
MR.  JOHN  PORTEOUS.  WM  MAXWELL- 

The  quartermaster  -  general  of  the  army, 
Stephen  Moylan,  is  so  obscure  that  he  barely 
crawls  into  the  most  comprehensive  of  cyclo- 
paedias, although  he  receives  due  credit  in  Har- 
per's Encyclopaedia  of  United  States  History. 
He  rendered  efficient  service  and  deserves  re- 

283 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

membrance  as  much  as  if  he  had  led  a  theatrical 
charge  at  Saratoga.  I  like  to  read  over  his  let- 
ter, because  it  conveys  to  my  mind  a  sense  of 
some  of  the  difficulties  of  the  time,  the  matters 
which  are  passed  by  in  histories,  the  every-day 
troubles  which  never  become  the  subject  of 
formal  record.  Moylan  says: 

MR.  HUGHES,  — I  believe  every  step  that  we 
can  think,  for  collecting  boards  are  now  putting 
in  execution;  there  are  other  things  which  it  is 
time  we  should  be  providing  &  which  the  General 
calls  upon  us  to  exert  ourselves  in,  for  the  erecting 
of  Barracks,  Joice,  Brick,  Lime,  &  Stone,  Shingles, 
in  short  everything  necessary  to  build  Barracks 
that  will  contain  at  least  20,000  men.  The  Gen- 
eral says  that  the  commanding  officers,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  Engineers,  will  fix  upon  the  proper 
spots  for  making  the  collection  of  materials  which 
will  be  nearest  the  places  where  they  intend  the 
Barracks  shall  be  erected.  When  you  have  the 
Sulky  put  in  order,  send  it  to  me  as  I  intend  going 
up  to  see  where  these  spots  will  be — Do  you  in  the 
mean  time  exert  that  active  spirit  with  which  you 
are  blest,  and  pick  up  all  the  shingles  in  the  town 
which  you  will  please  to  send  to  Kingsbridge.  Do 
you  know  where  Bricks  are  to  be  had,  or  Lime.  Set 
about  these  things  with  your  usual  attention  &  I 
doubt  not  we  shall  be  able  to  comply  with  the  Gener- 
al's commands.  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost,  as  the 
enemy  can  take  the  town  from  us  whenever  they 
please.  I  am  truly  yours—  STEPHEN  MOYLAN, 

Sept.  9, 1776.  QM.  GENL 

284 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

We  are  not  quite  certain  that  we  know  much 
about  " Old  Put."  We  are  assured  that  he  was 
present  at  Bunker  Hill;  we  are  not  much  en- 
couraged to  believe  in  his  encounter  with  the 
wolf  or  in  his  breakneck  ride  at  Greenwich; 
and  among  all  the  confusion  of  historians  we 
are  at  a  loss  to  know  anything  about  his  life 
prior  to  the  Revolution.  At  one  time  it  was 
generally  understood  that  he  was  born  in  1718, 
and  that  he  served  in  the  French  War;  and  the 
picture  of  Putnam  leaving  his  plough  to  fly 
to  Cambridge  as  a  volunteer  is  familiar  to  us. 
Recent  investigations  have  so  disturbed  my 
mind  with  regard  to  Putnam  that  I  am  not 
prepared  to  admit  anything  about  him  except 
that  he  was  a  major-general  in  the  Continental 
army — a  poor  one  at  that — and  that  he  wrote 
execrable  English.  Iconoclasts  agree,  however, 
that  he  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  when 
"Bunker  Hill"  was  fought,  and  therefore  he 
has  a  passport  to  fame.  This  document  of 
his  certainly  preserves  the  record  of  his  illit- 
eracy : 

Received  of  Leut  Samll  Hunt  three  Boilers 
which  shall  intitle  him  to  a  Shire  or  Proportion 
of  Land  agrieable  to  his  Rank  or  otherwise  in  the 
Company  of  Millatary  adventurers  in  a  grant  of 
Land  attained  from  the  crown  by  Major  General 
P.  Lyman  bounded  west  by  the  River  Missiseppi 

285 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

North  by  the  River  Yason  betwein  the  Latitude 
Thirty  two  &  thirty  four.     Dated  at 
CHARLESTOWN,  sth  December,  1772— 

ISRAEL  PUTNAM. 

It  is  not  often  that  one  may  come  into  posses- 
sion of  a  real  written  offer  of  marriage  by  a 
hero;  and  the  gallant  Alexander  Scammell, 
the  handsome,  dashing  soldier,  who  met  his 
fate  at  Yorktown,  has  given  us  a  genuine  love- 
letter.  I  wish  that  I  could  pause  to  dwell  upon 
his  personal  history,  but  I  cannot.  He  was 
brave  and  wise,  an  excellent  adjutant-general, 
and  I  regret  that  "  dear  Naby  "  seems  never  to 
have  responded  favorably  to  his  suit.  He 
writes  to  her  in  these  ardent  phrases : 

CAMP  MIDDLEBROOK,  Deer.  26th,  78 
DEAR  NABY, — I  have  wrote  you  so  many  let- 
ters without  having  the  pleasure  of  receiving  a 
single  answer,  that  I  am  in  much  at  a  loss  how 
to  address  you  in  that  way  which  would  be  most 
agreable  to  you.  I  wrote  you  in  my  last  that 
I  Entertained  hopes  of  comming  to  Mistic  this 
winter —  The  duty  of  my  office  is  so  great  &  of 
such  a  Nature  that  I  am  apprehensive,  indeed  am 
well  assured  that  His  Excellency  will  not  grant 
me  the  Indulgence  unless  you  would  generously 
surmount  the  supposed  difficulties  which  you 
think  lay  in  your  way  and  condescend  to  give 
me  your  Hand  as  soon  as  I  arrived.  In  that  case 
the  Genl  is  possessed  of  so  much  Delicacy  &  Gen- 
erosity that  I  am  sure  he  would  give  me  Leave  of 

286 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

absence.  I  hear  you  are  still  disengaged,  &  that 
I  have  ground  to  hope.  If  that  is  the  case,  my 
dearest  Naby,  you  have  sufficiently  tryed  me  to 
be  convinced  in  your  own  Breast  that  I  love,  that 
I  esteem,  that  I  entertain  a  tender,  a  most  fixed 
affection  for  you.  We  both  my  dear  girl  are  ad- 
vancing in  years,  and  grow  older  every  day.  The 
many  happy  couple  we  Daily  see,  the  assertions 
of  those  already  married,  our  own  feelings,  nay 
our  duty  to  society  convince  us  the  married  state 
is  the  most  happy,  the  most  eligible,  &  that  we 
cannot  be  completely  contented  till  we  arrive  at 
that  state.  The  longer  we  remain  single,  the 
greater  difficulties  will  arise  in  our  minds.  The 
War  which  seemed  the  principal  objection  in  your 
mind  the  last  happy  moments  I  was  with  you,  is 
nearly  closed.  I  hope  next  summer,  perhaps  this 
winter,  will  put  a  period  to  it.  If  the  most  tender 
love,  &  tryed  affection  can  make  you  happy,  I'm 
sure  no  person  can  contribute  more  to  it  than  I 
can. 

Our  long  acquaintance  &  intimate  connection, 
renders  all  reserve  or  scruples  unnecessary  and 
superfluous.  We  are  well  acquainted  with  each 
other's  minds  &  dispositions.  You  are  the  only 
object  of  all  I  hold  dear  upon  earth.  You  have  it 
in  your  power  to  make  me  the  happiest,  most  grate- 
ful Husband  in  the  world,  whose  whole  study  would 
be  your  Happiness  &  Contentement.  You  are 
possest  of  those  tender  delicate  sensations  which 
will  induce  you  not  to  treat  with  cruelty  or  neglect 
a  person  so  totally  absorbed  &  devoted  to  you. 
I  know  you  have  a  generous  soul.  I  conjure  you 
by  all  the  tender  ties  of  Friendship,  Love  &  the 

287 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

tender  moments  we  have  spent  together,  to  write 
me  an  answer  to  this.  I  must  urge  and  insist  upon 
it.  Generously  condescend  to  promise  me  you 
will  make  me  happy  in  the  Nuptial  Bonds.  By 
which  means  I  shall  be  able  to  obtain  Liberty  to 
fly  to  your  arms  and  convince  you  that  you  have 
bestowed  your  affections  &  hand  upon  a  person 
whose  lively  sense  of  gratitude  will  ever  render 
him  studiously  anxious  to  do  everything  in  his 
power  to  deserve  so  rich  a  blessing.  My  dearest, 
pardon  me  if  in  this  letter  I  have  wrote  any  offensive 
expressions.  Consider  me  as  a  man  pleading  for 
earthly  happiness,  &  in  that  light  I  hope  you'll 
excuse  my  errors  in  expression  —  From  my  long 
connection  with  you,  &  the  vast  number  of  letters 
I  have  wrote  you,  I  think  in  justice  you  ought  to 
send  me  an  answer,  &  that  I  have  a  right  to  request 
one.  I  must  again  intreat  you  to  write  the  first 
opportunity  to  Your 

MISS  NABY  BISHOP-  A"3*'  SCAMMELL 

There  is  a  stcny  concerning  John  Stark  and 
the  battle  of  Bennington,  in  which  the  hero 
of  that  conflict  is  reported  to  have  made  some 
remark  about  "Molly  Stark"  being  a  widow 
in  a  certain  contingency;  but  as  the  wife  of 
General  Stark  was  not  named  Molly,  we  may 
dismiss  it  without  further  consideration.  The 
gallant  old  soldier  lived  to  the  age  of  ninety- 
three  years,  and  gained  immortality  by  his 
heroic  fight  at  Bennington.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  he  contributed  materially  to  the  discom- 

288 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

fiture  of  Burgoyne.     This  letter  was  written  by 
him  only  a  few  days  before  the  famous  battle : 

MANCHESTER,  August  10, 1777. 

SIR, — Your  favour  of  8  of  the  clock  last  even- 
ing came  to  hand  precisely  at  n  this  morning. 
Agreeable  to  Genl  Schuyler's  request,  joined  by 
yours,  I  immediately  issued  orders  for  my  Brigade 
to  repair  to  Headqrs  in  order  to  march  to  Benning- 
town.  Be  pleased  Sir  to  assure  Genl.  Schuyler 
that  I  will  do  everything  in  my  power  to  promote 
the  Publick  good.  And  I  flatter  myself  that  he  has 
more  honor  than  to  desire  I  should  do  anything 
that  may  hereafter  or  at  present  prove  inconsistent 
with  mine. 

I  am  sir,  your  most  obedt  humble  servant 

JOHN  STARK. 
To  GENL  LINCOLN. 

I  shall  resist  the  temptation  to  add  more  to 
the  record  of  Revolutionary  generals.     They 
are  numerous,  and  perhaps  a  little  too  prolix. 
19 


XVII 

T  T  7HEN  I  contemplate  my  humble  collection 
VV  of  the  "Signers/'  I  am  conscious  of  the 
folly  of  allowing  vaulting  ambition  to  o'erleap 
itself,  or  of  trying  to  hitch  one's  wagon  to  a  star 
without  being  adequately  provided  with  facili- 
ties for  aerial  navigation.  If  I  had  studied  the 
painfully  elaborate  treatise  of  Dr.  Lyman  C. 
Draper  before  I  ventured  to  dally  with  Signers, 
I  should  have  been  more  wary.  I  see  clearly 
now  that  it  was  a  grand,  serious,  and  portentous 
undertaking,  not  to  be  entered  upon  lightly  or 
carelessly.  Draper  tells  us  almost  all  that  there 
is  to  be  known  about  autographs  and  portraits 
of  the  famous  fifty-six,  and  about  every  man's 
collection  of  them  except  mine;  but  he  may  be 
pardoned  for  that  omission,  because  he  died 
before  mine  was  worthy  of  being  called  a  "  col- 
lection," and,  moreover,  I  do  not  presume  to 
enroll  my  modest  specimens  among  the  blue- 
ribbon  gatherings  of  the  great  collectors.  There 
is  much  in  the  Draper  book  which  may  be  judi- 
ciously dismissed  from  the  memory,  but  he  has 

290 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

exhausted  his  subject  and  succeeded  in  dis- 
couraging me  sorely. 

The  beginning  is  easy  —  facilis  descensus  — 
and  the  plentiful  supply  of  Robert  Morris, 
Charles  Carroll,  Clymer,  Gerry,  McKean,  and 
Rush  lures  the  unsuspecting  victim  to  his  ulti- 
mate ruin.  It  is  when  he  encounters  the  rare 
Southerners  that  he  begins  to  comprehend 
the  gravity  of  his  task  and  to  have  a  sense  of 
his  own  inadequacy.  But  there  is  a  certain 
attractiveness  about  the  Signers.  They  are 
few  in  number,  and  they  appeal  not  only  to 
Americans,  but  to  all  English-speaking  people. 
They  stimulate  the  imagination,  as  all  good 
autographs  do.  I  love  to  turn  the  faded,  yellow 
pages  and  to  think  of  the  men  who  gave  a  new 
republic  to  mankind,  recalling  the  queer,  cacoph- 
onous outburst  of  Carlyle  —  "Borne  over  the 
Atlantic  to  the  closing  ear  of  Louis,  King  by 
the  grace  of  God,  what  sounds  are  these :  muffled, 
ominous,  new  in  our  centuries?  Boston  Harbor 
is  black  with  unexpected  Tea:  behold  a  Penn- 
sylvania Congress  gather;  and  ere  long,  on 
Bunker  Hill,  Democracy  announcing  in  rifle-vol- 
leys  death-winged,  under  her  Star  banner,  to  the 
tune  of  Yankee-doodle-doo,  that  she  is  born,  and, 
whirlwind-like,  will  envelop  the  whole  world!'' 

The  Signers  were  an  odd  lot  of  statesmen, 
to  be  sure;  just  such  a  legislative  body  as  one 

291 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

would  expect  to  see  mustered  together  as  the 
representatives  of  thirteen  disjointed  and  un- 
assimilated  colonies  who  regarded  one  another 
with  distrust,  although  drawn  together  by  the 
common  impulse  of  resistance  to  injustice  and 
oppression.  There  were  all  grades  of  men 
among  them,  ranging  from  the  philosophic 
Franklin  to  Clark,  the  New  Jersey  sheriff,,  and 
from  the  spirited  and  impetuous  Adams  to 
young  Lynch,  whose  only  title  to  a  seat  in 
Congress  was  derived  from  its  previous  occu- 
pancy by  his  father. 

Those  experts  who  turn  up  the  nose  of  scorn 
at  anything  except  an  A.  L.  S.  of  1776  may, 
perhaps,  scoff  at  my  examples,  but  I  derive 
much  comfort  from  them,  although  it  is  sad  to 
behold  that  vacant  space  which  should  be  filled 
by  a  Button  Gwinnett.  I  am  patiently  waiting 
for  Danforth  to  find  some  Gwinnetts  in  hiding 
somewhere  in  Georgia.  Perhaps  if  I  had  known 
Mr.  James  W.  Turner  I  might  have  supplied 
the  deficiency,  for  Draper  tells  us  that  he  fur- 
nished, on  demand,  the  autographs  of  "Gwin- 
nett, Hall,  and  other  rare  Signers/' 

The  list  always  begins  with  Josiah  Bartlett, 
of  New  Hampshire,  the  patriot  physician,  who 
was  the  first  man  to  give  his  vote  for  the  Dec- 
laration and  the  second  to  sign  it;  such,  at 
least,  is  the  tradition,  but  I  do  not  know  upon 

292 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

what  it  is  based.  To  the  Honorable  John 
Langdon,  who  afterwards  enjoyed  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  first  presiding  officer  of  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States,  Bartlett  writes, 
with  much  good  sense  but  defective  spelling : 

PHILADELPHIA,  October  27  1778. 
DEAR  SIR, — By  the  several  letters  which  have 
been  sent  to  Congress  by  the  Brittish  Commissn 
they  seem  to  be  possessed  of  an  Idea  that  Congress 
has  exceeded  their  powers  in  forming  an  alliance 
with  France  and  in  rejecting  the  Commissrs  offers 
of  Reconcilliation  and  that  in  both  those  influ- 
ences we  had  acted  contrary  to  the  sense  of  our 
Constituents.  Whether  they  are  really  Deceived 
by  the  Tory  accounts  that  they  receive  from  the 
several  States  or  whether  they  mean  to  Deceive 
others  by  publishing  such  falsehoods,  I  am  uncer- 
tain. But  this  I  am  certain  of,  that  so  long  as 
Brittain  has  the  smallest  hope  remaining  of  our 
submmitting  to  her  Domination  again,  she  will 
never  recognize  our  independance  and  consequently 
the  war  must  continue.  It  is  therefore  our  Inter- 
est to  convince  Brittain  &  every  body  else  that  the 
French  alliance  and  the  Rejection  of  the  offers 
of  the  Commissrs  are  approved  of  universally  by 
these  States,  and  that  that  power  of  making  Peace  & 
War  and  contracting  alliances  is  vested  solely  in  the 
Congress.  ...  As  my  power  of  Representing  the 
State  will  expire  next  Saturday,  I  expect  to  set  out 
for  home  the  Beginning  of  next  week :  hope  proper 
care  will  be  taken  to  have  the  State  represented  here. 
Your  friend  &  servt. 

JOSIAH  BARTLETT— 
293 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

We  are  apt  to  think  of  the  sages  of  the  Revo- 
lution as  venerable  men,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
realize  that  John  Adams,  who  lived  for  nearly 
fifty  years  after  the  adoption  of  the  Declaration, 
was  only  forty  -  one  when  he  subscribed  his 
name  to  that  famous  document.  When  he  was 
in  Paris  he  wrote  to  a  certain  M.  Dumas: 

PARIS,  Dec.  24,  1782. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  send 
me  a  copy  of  the  Pensees  sur  la  Revolution  &c 
extraited  from  the  Memorial  of  G.  Pownal — if  it 
is  not  to  be  had  in  any  of  the  Bookseller's  shops  at 
the  Hague,  our  friend  Mr.  Luzac  will  let  you  know 
where  to  find  one,  a  gentleman  here  is  very  de- 
sirous of  one,  and  I  have  promised  him  one  if  I 
can  get  it.  Send  it  by  the  Post  if  you  dont  soon 
find  a  private  Hand.  Have  you  any  News  of  my 
Son?  We  cannot  say  whether  we  are  to  have 
Peace  or  not.  I  wish  the  definitive  Treaty  were 
signed  or  the  Negotiations  broken  off,  that  I  may 
return  to  you.  My  Respects  to  your  Family  &  to 
all  our  good  Friends. 

Yours  affectionately 

J.  ADAMS. 

John  Hancock's  name  is  the  most  conspicuous 
on  the  roll,  for  not  only  was  he  the  President  of 
Congress,  but  he  wrote  a  bold  and  impressive 
hand.  It  is  well  known  that  he  was  not  an 
intellectual  giant  and  that  his  eminence  was 
rather  fortuitous.  One  may  form  a  concep- 
tion of  his  character  from  the  comment  of  his 

294 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

great  colleague,  John  Adams,  who  said  of  him  : 
"Nor  were  his  talents  or  attainments  incon- 
siderable. They  were  far  superior  to  many  who 
have  been  much  more  celebrated.  He  had  a 
great  deal  of  political  sagacity  and  insight 
into  men/'  I  should  say  that  this  was  faint 
praise.  We  may  as  well  acknowledge  that  the 
premier  of  the  Signers  was  a  dull  person;  honest, 
loyal,  vain,  and  a  little  purse-proud;  the  sort 
of  man  who  would  refuse  to  pay  the  first  visit 
to  President  Washington  when  that  dignitary 
came  to  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  Hancock 
being  Governor  of  that  Commonwealth.  It  was 
on  this  occasion  that  Washington,  with  par- 
donable irony,  earnestly  begged  that  Hancock 
would  not  hazard  his  health  to  visit  him;  and 
the  result  was  that  the  distinguished  Governor 
paid  his  duty,  although  he  went  enveloped  in 
flannel,  borne  in  the  arms  of  servants.  It  is 
hard  to  believe  that  there  can  be  such  anger 
in  celestial  minds. 

The  letters  of  Hancock  are  quite  rare,  al- 
though his  autograph  is  fairly  common  in 
other  forms.  This  is  a  full  "  A.  L.  S." : 

BOSTON,  March  31,  1784. 

SIR,  —  Inclosed  I  send  you  a  Resolve  of  the 
Genl  Court,  directing  an  Inventory  to  be  taken  of 
all  the  Public  Stores  &  Buildings  left  at  Penobscot 
after  the  departure  of  the  British  troops.  I  am 

295 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

to  request  that  you  will  appoint  a  suitable  officer 
under  your  command  with  such  aid  as  you  shall 
judge  necessary  to  proceed  to  Penobscot  &  give 
him  Instructions  in  every  respect  strictly  to  carry 
into  effect  the  views  of  the  General  Court  manifested 
in  the  inclosed  Resolve;  after  this  business  is 
effected  you  will  please  to  transmit  to  me  the  Re- 
sults of  your  doings.  .  .  . 

I  am,  with  Respect,  Sir, 

Your  most  obed.  servt 
BRIG.  GEN*  MCCOBB.  J°HN  HANCOCK. 

I  must  not  spend  much  time  over  the  more 
obscure  Signers,  and  I  come  to  Elbridge  Gerry, 
later  Vice-President,  who  gave  to  our  political 
vocabulary  the  famous  word  "gerrymander/' 
He  had  ability  and  independence  of  character, 
but  as  he  was  not  a  devoted  admirer  of  Hamil- 
ton and  of  Hamilton's  methods,  he  has  been 
disparaged  by  the  Hamiltonian  historians.  A 
patriotic  citizen  and  an  intelligent,  faithful 
public  servant,  he  always  possessed  the  con- 
fidence of  his  fellows,  and  the  fact  that  John 
Adams  made  him  one  of  the  envoys  to  France 
in  1797  shows  the  regard  which  even  a  political 
opponent  had  for  him.  He  writes  to  Samuel 
Bradley  in  1813: 

I  have  received  from  Doctor  Manney,  in  London, 
a  package  in  regard  to  which  he  states,  that  "  the 
large  parcel  addressed  to  you  contains  books  in- 
tended for  sale  by  auction  for  improvements  in 

296 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Fry  burg.  I  request  you  to  retain  them  till  Mr. 
Samuel  Bradley  &  you  communicate/'  I  have 
also  a  magazine  which  he  says  his  printer  ad- 
dresses for  your  acceptance.  Enclosed  is  like- 
wise a  prospectus,  transmitted  to  you  agreeably 
to  his  request.  Please  to  inform  me  by  a  line 
where  to  deposit  the  package  and  magazine;  &, 
if  I  should  be  absent,  Mrs.  Gerry  will  order  them 
to  the  place,  if  near  this,  you  may  propose  for 
receiving  them. 

Here  is  also  a  letter  to  Vans  Murray  (who 
was  envoy  to  the  Netherlands  in  1797),  written 
in  April,  1798,  from  his  post  of  duty  in  France: 

...  I  flatter  myself  that  you  know  me  too  well 
to  suppose  that  an  "  official  reception  "  a  mere  civil- 
ity, could  have  the  weight  of  a  feather  in  forming 
in  my  mind  so  important  a  decision :  if  I  had  an 
ambition  of  this  kind,  it  has  been  &  is  now  in  my 
power  to  gratify  it ;  but  I  would  not  give  a  sol  to 
have  my  name  affixed  to  every  treaty  of  the  U. 
States  made  or  to  be  made  during  my  life;  indeed, 
all  personal  considerations  are  against  my  remain- 
ing here :  the  state  of  my  family  demands  my  im- 
mediate return  to  it ;  emolument  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, each  of  the  envoys  having  spent  his  salary 
&  one  of  them  nearly  twice  the  amount,  but  if  the 
emolument  was  £20,000  a  year  it  would  be  no  temp- 
tation to  me  to  be  seperated  from  my  family.  .  .  . 

Those  of  us  who  are  familiar  with  the  fac 
similes  of  the  Declaration  are  mindful  of  the 
tremulous   signature   of   Stephen   Hopkins,  of 

297 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

Rhode  Island,  who  was  in  his  seventieth  year 
when  he  wrote  the  faltering  characters,  and  who 
was  afflicted  with  partial  paralysis.  He  had 
enjoyed  the  honor  of  being  a  chief-justice  for 
some  time,  although  he  was  not  a  lawyer,  but 
a  farmer,  land-surveyor,  and  merchant,  and  he 
was  ten  times  chosen  governor  of  the  little  col- 
ony. It  was  during  one  of  his  terms  of  office  as 
chief  magistrate  that  he  wrote  this  letter,  which 
is  dated  at  Providence  on  August  2,  1755: 

This  moment  I  reed,  a  letter  from  Govr.  De- 
lancey  enclosing  the  Copy  of  one  from  Capt.  Orme 
giving  an  account  of  the  Defeat  and  Death  of  Genl. 
Braddock  and  many  of  his  officers  and  men.  This 
is  an  event  of  so  much  consequence  to  all  the  Colonys 
that  I  thought  it  my  Duty  to  send  it  to  you  by 
Express  not  knowing  you  would  receive  it  from 
any  other  quarter. 

I  shall  immediately  call  our  Genl.  Assembly 
together  and  recomend  to  them  in  the  strongest 
manner  the  doing  everything  within  their  Power 
toward  repairing  this  unhappy  Loss  and  prevent- 
ing any  other  of  the  same  Nature.  What  method 
will  be  thought  most  effectual  by  the  Colonys  for 
such  a  purpose  I  cannot  yet  tell,  but  am  in  hopes 
all  will  exert  themselves  to  the  utmost.  I  am, 
sorrowfully  at  present,  etc. 

Considering  the  fact  that  John  Witherspoon 
had  been  in  this  country  only  eight  years  when 
he  affixed  his  name  to  the  Declaration,  he  must 

298 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

be  said  to  have  made  a  distinguished  mark  as 
a  patriot.  He  was  called  to  the  presidency  of 
Princeton  in  1768,  and  his  memory  is  dear  to 
Princetonians.  The  famous  village,  as  all 
remember,  boasts  the  possession  of  two  homes 
of  the  Signers — the  beautiful  old  "Morven," 
where  Richard  Stockton  lived,  and  "  Tusculum/' 
the  dwelling  of  the  sturdy  Scotchman  who  pre- 
ceded James  McCosh  by  exactly  a  century. 
There  may  be  little  historical  importance  in 
my  letter  of  Witherspoon,  but  it  shows,  at  all 
events,  that  he  was  not  backward  in  the  support 
of  those  whom  he  esteemed.  One  hundred 
pounds  was  a  considerable  sum  in  those  days : 

PRINCETON,  July  31,  1781. 

DR  SlR, — The  bearer,  Anthony  Joline  is  brother 
in  law  &  partner  to  Mr.  Elias  Woodruff  of  this 
place.  They  have  begun  business  together,  and 
he  means  to  call  upon  you  for  goods.  If  you 
please,  you  may  charge  me  to  his  credit  for  £40 
and  as  they  are  both  persons  of  good  report  and 
credit,  if  you  give  them  credit  for  60  pounds  more 
I  will  be  answerable  for  their  paying  at  the  time 
appointed. 

I  am  D  Sir— 

Yours  &c 

JNO.  WITHERSPOON— 
MR.  MATHEW  IRVINE 

MERCHT,  PHILADELPHIA. 

Caesar  Rodney,  of  Delaware,  was  not  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  the  Signers,  and  his  letters 

299 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

are  but  moderately  rare;  but  letters  written 
in  July,  1776,  by  any  Signer  are  of  interest, 
at  least  to  the  collector,  and  this  one  gives  us 
a  glimpse  of  the  state  of  affairs  in  Philadelphia 
in  that  eventful  month: 

PHILADELPHIA,  July  the  ijth  1776. 
SIR, — I  Reed  from  you  a  few  lines  yesterday 
and  am  much  pleased  to  hear  my  harvest  is.  in  so 
good  way,  hope  that  this  week  you  will  be  able  to 
secure  it.  I  am  glad  the  Hay  Harvest  has  engaged 
your  attention — that  article  will  be  verry  material  to 
us  next  winter.  If  it  be  possible,  I  will  have  Bot- 
says  shoos  done  by  the  time  I  set  out  for  Newcas- 
tle to  attend  the  assembly,  where  I  expect  to  meet 
you  and  the  rest  of  our  members.  But  do  assure 
you  it  is  verry  difficult  as  all  most  all  the  tradesmen 
of  every  kind  have  left  the  City.  I  have  not  now 
a  Barber  to  shave  me.  In  consequence  of  a  bad 
cold  caught  on  the  last  week  by  some  means  or 
other  unknown  to  me,  and  getting  verry  wet  on 
Sunday  in  returning  from  Congress,  I  have  been 
ever  since  then  confined  to  my  room,  but  am  now  so 
much  better  as  to  be  able  to  attend  this  morning — 
.  .  .  Lord  Howe's  transports  with  the  soldiery 
are  not  yet  arrived.  I  am  with  love  to  all  of  you, 
Yr  humble  servt. 

THOMAS  RODNEY  Esq.  CAESAR   RODNEY- 

George  Wythe,  the  law-preceptor  of  Henry 
Clay,  wrote  in  a  singular  fashion,  almost  "  print- 
ing" his  characters,  each  letter  separate  from 
its  neighbors ;  all  exceedingly  neat,  and,  despite 

300 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

a  little  stiffness  of  effect,  remarkably  pleasing. 
The  great  Virginia  chancellor,  like  Mr.  Justice 
Miller,  of  the  Supreme  Court,  began  his  study 
of  law  at  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  attained 
the  highest  eminence;  but  Miller  spent  his 
"  twenties"  in  practising  medicine,  while  Wythe 
passed  those  years  in  ridding  himself  of  a  com- 
fortable fortune.  After  settling  up  with  his 
creditors  he  settled  down  to  work,  making  ample 
atonement  for  his  years  of  indiscretion,  and 
dying,  at  eighty,  from  accidental  poisoning. 
There  are  not  many  letters  of  his  to  be  had  by 
the  amateur  collector,  although  signed  docu- 
ments are  passably  common.  My  letter  is  not 
signed;  the  name,  however,  in  the  body  of  it, 
shows  it  is  addressed  to  Everard  Robinson.  I 
give  only  a  fragment,  showing  the  quaint  style : 

I  thank  thee,  good  sir,  for  thy  kind  letter  re- 
ceived yesterday,  and  shall  be  obliged  to  thee  for 
endeavouring  to  preserve  my  land  and  house 
from  devastation  until  I  can  sell  or  lease  them. 
I  beg  thee  to  present  my  good  wishes  to  my  friend 
and  old  acquaintance,  thy  father.  Adieu.  31 
Octob.  1801 

One  of  the  difficult  Signers  is  Joseph  Hewes, 
of  North  Carolina,  and  another  is  William 
Hooper,  of  the  same  State.  I  suppose  that 
if  I  had  begun  my  quest  of  their  letters  years 
ago  I  might  have  been  more  successful  in  my 

301 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

efforts.  I  feel  like  exclaiming,  in  Eugene  Field's 
words — his  perversion  of  Horace:  "Oh  that  I 
had  lived  before  I  was  born!"  My  documents 
have,  however,  some  association  with  the  be- 
ginnings of  our  navy,  and  may  therefore  be 
worthy  of  preservation. 

Hewes  was  a  member  of  the  Naval  Committee 
of  Congress  in  1775,  and,  together  with  Stephen 
Hopkins,  Christopher  Gadsden,  John  Adams, 
and  Silas  Deane,  signed  this  letter  of  instruc- 
tions to  Dudley  Saltonstall,  on  November  27, 
I775-  Saltonstall  was  the  first  captain  in  the 
navy  of  the  United  States : 

The  Congress  are  now  preparing  two  ships  and 
two  brigantines  to  be  fitted  out  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble to  cruise  against  our  common  enemy.  They 
have  thought  of  you  as  a  proper  person  to  take 
the  command  of  one  of  these  ships  as  Captain. 
If  you  enter  into  this  service,  which  we  take  to 
be  the  service  of  your  country,  you  will  give  us 
the  earliest  information  and  repair  to  Philadelphia 
as  soon  as  your  affairs  will  possibly  admit,  and 
bring  with  you  as  many  officers  and  seamen  as 
you  can  procure  at  New  London,  and  between  that 
place  and  Philadelphia.  Those  who  may  not 
be  able  to  come  with  you,  leave  proper  persons  to 
encourage  and  conduct  along  after  you. 

If  money  should  be  necessary  for  the  perform- 
ance of  this  service,  you  may  draw  on  Mr.  Eleazer 
Miller,  Merchant  in  New  York,  who  has  money  in 
his  hands  for  that  purpose. 

302 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

In  a  day  or  two  after  you  receive  this,  you  will 
receive  by  the  Messrs.  Mumfords  the  Conditions 
and  encouragement  offered  to  the  seamen. 

Hooper  was  a  member  of  what  was  known  as 
the  "Marine  Committee";  and  that  committee, 
which  included  John  Hancock,  Robert  Morris, 
Richard  Henry  Lee,  Francis  Lewis,  William 
Whipple,  William  Hooper,  and  George  Walton, 
wrote  on  October  30,  1776,  to  Commodore  Esek 
Hopkins,  in  these  words: 

We  have  received  such  intelligence  as  satis- 
fies us  that  Enemies'  Ships  and  vessels  have  all 
quitted  Georgia  and  the  Carolinas,  which  renders 
it  unnecessary  for  you  to  pursue  the  expedition 
formerly  directed  to  these  States.  But,  as  we 
have  still  reason  to  suppose  that  the  Galatea  and 
Nautilus  are  cruizing  of  the  Capes  of  Virginia  we 
desire  you  will  proceed  thither  with  all  possible 
despatch  and  endeavour  to  fall  in  with  these  Ships 
and  take,  sink  or  destroy  them. 

If  when  you  are  on  that  station  you  should  be 
informed  that  any  of  the  Enemies'  Ships  of  war 
have  returned  to  the  Carolinas,  or  Georgia,  you 
are  in  that  case  to  go  in  search  of  them  and  effect- 
ually remove  them.  Having  finished  this  busi- 
ness, you  are  to  return  and  cruize  for  and  endeavour 
to  intercept  the  Store  and  provisions  vessels  coming 
from  Europe  to  the  Enemies'  army  at  New  York. 

We  expect  you  will  give  this  Committee  informa- 
tion by  every  opportunity  of  your  proceedings  and 
what  success  you  may  meet  with  in  the  above  enter- 
prizes.  We  wish  you  success  and  are  Sir,  &c.,  &c. 

303 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

When  Dr.  Draper  published  his  book,  in 
1889,  he  knew  of  but  one  full  letter  of  Thomas 
Lynch,  Jr. — Emmet's  famous  one,  unique  and 
unapproachable;  three  documents  signed;  and 
twenty-two  signatures.  That  is  what  I  labori- 
ously spell  out  of  the  learned  doctor's  confused, 
ill  -  arranged,  and  rambling  dissertations.  If 
Draper  could  have  procured  the  assistance  of  a 
competent  writer  to  present  to  the  world  his  val- 
uable discoveries  and  the  result  of  his  researches, 
it  would  have  been  a  distinct  advantage  to  the 
student.  Soon  after  he  gave  his  brochure  to 
the  public  the  doctor  began  to  give  signs  of 
what  may  be  termed  Lynchomania,  and,  as  I 
am  informed,  he  thought  that  he  had  found 
many  signatures,  cut  from  books,  which  less 
enthusiastic  experts  regard  with  grave  sus- 
picion. My  own  Lynch  signature  I  believe  to 
be  beyond  question. 

It  is  a  full  signature,  written  on  the  back 
of  the  frontispiece  of  a  large  quarto  volume, 
entitled  "The  Tragedies  of  Sophocles  from  tlie 
Greek;  by  Thomas  Franklin  M.A.  Fellow  of 
Trinity  College  and  Greek  Professor  in  the 
University  of  Cambridge,  Vol.  I.  London.  Print- 
ed for  R.  Franklin,  in  Co  vent  Garden,  1759." 
I  myself  detached  the  sheet  from  the  book,  as 
there  was  another  but  less  satisfactory  signature 
on  the  title-page,  and  I  was  obliged  to  take  my 

304 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

choice.  The  book  came  from  the  Pringles,  of 
Charleston,  and  was  a  part  of  the  Lynch  library. 
It  was  given,  with  others,  to  Rev.  J.  M.  Pringle 
about  1840,  and  eventually  found  its  way  to 
Mrs.  M.  T.  Pringle.  These  facts  I  learned  from 
several  sources,  and  among  them  from  Rev.  Mr. 
Pringle — not  the  original  owner,  but  a  descend- 
ant —  in  a  personal  interview.  I  am  entirely 
confident  that  my  autograph  is  a  genuine  one. 
I  must  fight  against  the  temptation  to  dwell 
on  the  Signers;  the  field  is  too  extensive.  I 
will  only  quote  George  Walton,  of  Georgia 
(moderately  rare),  because  of  his  touching 
reference  to  his  son  Jesse.  He  writes,  on  April 
22,  1777,  to  Colonel  John  Stirk: 

...  I  wish  General  Success  to  your  State, 
&  sincerely  wish  I  was  well  settled  among  you. 
However,  while  I  am  here  I  shall  endeavor  to  serve 
your  State  to  the  uttermost.  As  my  son,  Jesse,  has 
had  his  mind  a  little  depressed  by  fits,  I  shall  be  glad 
he  can  have  his  acct.  adjusted,  and  if  I  can  have 
any  Influence  with  your  state  that  he  might  not  go 
into  the  Camp  till  he  gets  perfectly  restored.  .  .  . 

Let  us  sincerely  hope  that  the  adjustment  of 
Jesse's  account  relieved  him  from  his  fitful 
depression. 

As  Lincoln  said  in  his  first  inaugural  address, 
"I  am  loath  to  close/'  I  should  be  glad  to 

305 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

wander  further  among  the  Americana,  the 
Revolutionary,  the  Napoleonic,  the  Literary, 
the  Dramatic,  and  the  Political;  but  these 
meditations  must  not  be  unduly  prolonged. 
"  Modus  est  rebus  "—"  There  must  be  an  end  of 
things" — Lord  Kenyon  was  wont  to  say.  No 
one  will  ever  be  as  fond  of  my  pets  as  I  have 
been,  and  at  no  distant  day  they  will  be  scat- 
tered among  the  bidders  at  the  inevitable  auc- 
tion-sale which  awaits  all  collections  save 
only  those  consigned  to  perpetual  burial  in 
•some  library.  My  own  association  with  them 
will  be  lost  and  forgotten.  I  look  upon  them 
almost  as  one  might  upon  the  children  whom 
he  must  leave  behind  him.  They,  however, 
may  remember,  while  our  cherished  autographs 
and  books,  in  serene  unconsciousness,  will  be 
forever  unmindful  of  the  fondness  which  has 
been  lavished  upon  them.  A  rare  book  will 
now  and  then  retain  the  record  of  a  tender  and 
devoted  ownership,  but  an  autograph  seldom 
recalls  the  memory  of  a  chance  possessor. 
None  the  less  dear  to  me  are  these  relics  of 
the  leaders  of  life  and  of  literature.  Some 
one  will  preserve  them,  and  perhaps  may 
fondle  them  as  I  have  done.  I  trust  that 
they  may  come  under  the  protecting  care  of 
a  true  collector,  a  real  antiquary  —  no  mere 
bargain  -  hunter,  no  "snapper  up  of  unconsid- 

306 


Meditations  of  an  Autograph  Collector 

ered  trifles/'  but  one  endowed  with  the  ca- 
pacity to  appreciate  whatsoever  things  are 
worthy  of  the  affection  of  the  lover  of  letters 
and  of  history. 


INDEX 


A'Beckett,    Gilbert    A.,    170, 

171. 
Adams,    John,    13,    272,    292, 

294,  296,  302. 
Adams,  John  Quincy,  17. 
Adams,  Dr.  William,  237. 
Addison,    Joseph,    201,    230, 

231. 

Adolphus,  John,  100. 
ufEschylus,  206. 
Ainsworth,  W.  H.,  67,  228. 
Albert,  Prince,  8,  223. 
Aldrich,  T.  B.,  264-266. 
Aldridge,  Ira,  50. 
Anne,  Queen,  230,  236. 
Armstrong,  John,  147. 
Arnold,  Benedict,  272,  273. 
Arnold,  Wm.  Harris,  74,  171. 
Arthur,  T.  S.,  75. 
Ayer,  J.  C,  I. 

Bacon,  Francis,  98,  107. 
Baillie,  Dr.,  83. 
Baker,  Thomas,  52. 
Ballantyne,  James,  141,  142, 

204. 

Bancroft,  George,  168-170. 
Bangs,  John  Kendrick,  146. 
Banks,  Mrs.  G.  L.,  96. 
Barham,  R.  H.,   145. 
Barre,  Colonel,  238. 
Barrie,  J.  M.,  152. 
Barry,  M.  J.,  27. 
Bartlett,  Josiah,  292,  293. 
Bayley,      Thomas      Haynes, 

199- 


Beauregard,     Comptesse    de, 

24,  189. 

Beckett,  Harry,  51. 
Bedford  (binder),  212. 
Benjamin,  Judah  P.,  56-59. 
Benjamins,  The,  3. 
Bentley  (publisher),  253. 
Benzon,  Mrs.,  192. 
Bernard,  Boyle,  150. 
Bethel,  Slingsby,  232. 
Billings,   Josh,   164. 
Bishop,  Sir  Henry,  150,  213. 
Blackstone,  Sir  W.,  103. 
Blessington,  Lady,   188. 
Blomfield,  Bishop,  260. 
Bloomfield,  Robert,   123. 
Boerum,   Simon,   5,   63. 
Bohn,  Henry  G.,  92,  93. 
Boswell,  James,  69,  113-115, 

227. 

Boucicault,  Dion,  49. 
Bourgogne,  Duchesse  de,  209. 
Bourrienne,  Louis  de,  216. 
Braddock,   General,   298. 
Bradley,  Samuel,  292,  293. 
Brady,  James  T.,  47. 
Brawne,  Fanny,   119. 
Breckinridge,  John  C.,  30. 
Bronte,  Charlotte,  69-72. 
Brooks,  Shirley,   171. 
Brougham,    Lord,    109,    no, 

201. 
Browne,   Charles  F.,    14,   55, 

170. 

Browne,  J.  Houston,  no. 
Browning,  E.  B.,  171-177, 193. 


309 


Index 


Browning,   Robert,    175,   176. 
Bryan,  William  J.,  13. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  144. 
Brydges,  Sir  S.  E.,  259-261. 
Buff  on,  Compte  de,  143. 
Bulwer,  Sir  E.  L.,  251-253. 
Burgoyne,  General,  275. 
Burke,  Edmund,  21,  238. 
Burnand,  F.  C.,  101,  170. 
Burns,  C.  De  F.,  3. 
Burns,    Robert,    78,  79. 
Burr,  Aaron,  273-275. 
Burroughs,   John,   245. 
Butler,  Fanny  Kemble,  175. 
Butler,     William    Allen,     98, 

146. 

Byron,  Lady,  82-84. 
Byron,  Lord,  82-84,  115,  119, 

'192,  213. 

Caine,  Hall,  152. 
Camden,  Lord,  238. 
Campanini,  Italo,  52. 
Campbell,  John  A.,  31. 
Campbell,  Lord,  no. 
Campbell,  Mary,  200. 
Campbell,  Thomas,  200,  201. 
Carey,  Henry,  230. 
Carey,  Matthew,  127,  128. 
Carleton,  G.  W.,  125,  126. 
Carlyle,  Jane  Welsh,    83-86, 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  83-86,  93, 
158,  179,  180,  181,  194,  291. 

Carroll,  Charles,  of  Carroll- 
ton,  291. 

Carroll,  Lewis,  88. 

Cary,  Henry  Francis,  201. 

Casaubons,  The,  260. 

Cato,   208. 

Charles  X.,  55. 

Chasles,  M.,  208. 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,   176. 

Chesterfield,  Lord,  86-88. 

Chichley,  Sir  Henry,  259. 

Choate,  Rufus,  24. 

Churchill,  Charles,  247. 

Cicero,  207. 

Cist,  L.  J.,  256. 


Clare,  John,  123. 
Clark,  Abraham,  292. 
Clay,  Henry,  9,  21,  300. 
Cleopatra,  208. 
Clinton,  George,  276. 
Clive,  Kitty,  240,  241. 
Coleridge,  Hartley,  79,  80. 
Coleridge,  Lord,  106,  107. 
Coleridge,    S.  T.,  79-81,  215, 

216. 

Clymer,  George,  291. 
Collier,  J.  Payne,  148. 
Collingwood, .  88. 
Collins,  Wilkie,  149. 
Colvin,  Sidney,   119. 
Conway,    Thomas,    274,    275. 
Cooper,  J.  Fenimore,  47. 
Cornwall,     Barry,    178-181. 
Cottenham,  Lord,  109. 
Cotton,  Sir  Charles,  106. 
Courvoisier,  Jean  J.  Antoine, 

99. 
Cowper,  William,    7,   8,    121- 

123. 

Crane,  Stephen,   14. 
Crockett,  David,   131. 
Crockett,    S.  R.,    152,  153. 
Croker,   J.  W.,  250. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  86. 
Crowe,  Ellis,  67. 
Cruikshank,  George,  171,  228, 

229. 

Curchod,  Mile,  de,  148. 
Cutting,  F.  B.,  21. 

Daly,  Augustin,  37,  155. 
Dance,  George,  261. 
Danforth,  Elliot,  292. 
Dante,  201. 

Darwin,  Charles,  256,  257. 
D'Aumale,  Mile.,  218—220. 
Davenport,   Fanny,    149. 
Deane,  Silas,  276"  302. 
Delancey,   Governor,   298. 
Depew,  Chauncey  M.,  54. 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,   I,   25, 

26,  70,  216. 

Derby,  George  H.,  21,  55. 
De  Reszke,  Jean,  52. 


310 


Index 


Devonshire,  Duke  of,  238. 
Dewey,  George,  53. 
Dickens,  Charles,  91,  143,  176, 

181,  201,  228. 

Dickens,  Mrs.  Charles,  204. 
Disraeli,  Benjamin,  105. 
D'Israeli,  Isaac,  219. 
Dix,  Charles  T.,  55. 
Dix,  John  A.,  54~56,  93- 
Dixon,   Hepworth,   254. 
Dobson,  Austin,  228. 
Don,  Lady  Henrietta,  79. 
D'Orsay,    Count,    186-188. 
Dowden,    Edward,    216,    217. 
Downing,  Major  Jack,  64. 
Draper,  Lyman  C.,  290,  292, 

304. 

Dryden,  John,  35,  201. 
Du  Maurier,  George,  53. 
Dumas,  Alexandre,   217. 
Dunlop,  Robert,  235. 
Dunning,  John,  238. 

Egremont,  Lord,  244. 
Eldon,  Lord,   105. 
Eliot,  George,  33~35- 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  230. 
Ellenborough,    Lord,    27. 
Emerson,    R.    W.,    158,    162, 

255,  256. 

Emmet,  Dr.  T.  A.,  5,  304. 
Eugenie,  Empress,  24. 
Euripides,  206,  208. 
Evarts,  William  M.,  137,  138, 

177,  236. 

Fechter,  Charles,  51. 
Fellowes,  Sir  James,  116-118. 
Field,  D.  D.,  137. 
Field,  Eugene,  45,  302. 
Field,  John,  203. 
Forbes,  Archibald,  186. 
Forman,   H.   Buxton,    119. 
Forrest,  Edwin,  44-49,  64. 
Forster,  John,  88. 
Fox,  Charles  James,  238,  244. 
Francis,  Sir   Philip,  110-112. 
Franklin,      Benjamin,      128- 
130,  292. 


Froude,  J.  A.,  93,  94,  102. 
Fuseli,  Henry,  199,  201. 

Gadsden,    Christopher,   302. 
Gardner,  John,  33. 
Garrick,  David,  68,    238-242. 
Gates,  Horatio,  275,  276. 
Gaultier,  Bon,  145. 
George  IV.,  41. 
Gerry,  Elbridge,  291. 
Gibbon,  Edward,  148,  237. 
Gilbert,  John,  51. 
Gilbert,  Mrs.,  149. 
Gilbert,  W.  S.,  153. 
Gist,  Mordecai,  278-280. 
Gladstone,   W.    E.,    32,    154, 

155. 

Glover,   John,   276-278. 
Godkin,  E.  L.,  220. 
Godolphin,  Earl  of,  236. 
Gosse,  Edmund,  266-268. 
Graham,  W.,  90. 
Grant,  U.  S.,  269. 
Gratz,  Simon,  33. 
Gray,  Thomas,  201. 
Greeley,  Horace,  24,  151. 
Greene,  George  W.,   169. 
Greene,   Nathanael,    102. 
Greene,  William,  273. 
Griswold,  Rufus  W.,  162,  174. 
Grover,  Martin,  49. 
Grundy,  Felix,  22. 
Gwinnett,  Button,  3,  292. 

Hall,  Lyman,  292. 
Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  37. 
Halpine,   Charles  G.,   77,   78. 
Hamilton,     Alexander,     231, 

296,  297. 
Hancock,  John,   4,  279,  294- 

296,  303- 

Hannay,  James,   192. 
Hardwicke,  Lord,  107-109. 
Hardy,  Sir  Thomas  M.,  105, 

1 06. 

Harper  &  Brothers,  44. 
Harrison,  Benjamin,  32. 
Harrison,  R.  H.,  269,  270. 
Hart,  Horace,  32. 


Index 


Hart,  John,  136. 
Harte,   Bret,    124,  125. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  39-41, 

158- 

Haydon,  B.  R.,  118,  119,  198. 
Hay  ward,  A.,  250. 
Hazlitt,   William,   217,  218. 
Heber,  Reginald,   260. 
Helmuth,  Dr.  W.  T.,  143. 
Henry,  Patrick,  21. 
Henry  VIII.,  93. 
Hervey,  Lord,  88. 
Hewes,   Joseph,   301,  302. 
Higginson,  T.  W.,  152. 
Hill,  George  Birkbeck,  7,  114, 

1 1 6,  256. 

Hoar,  George  F.,  139. 
Hogarth,  Christina,  204. 
Holmes,   Oliver  Wendell,   73, 

138,  202,  203. 
Holt,  George  C.,  133. 
Hook,  Theodore,  204,  205. 
Hooper,  William,  301-303. 
Hopkins,  Esek,  303. 
Horace,  247,  302. 
Houghton,  Lord,  24,  256. 
Howe,  Lord,  300. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  40,  142,  158, 

225. 

Howitt,  Mary,   123,  253,  254. 
Howitt,  William,  40,  253. 
Huish,  Robert,  68. 
Hume,  David,  68,  237,  238. 
Hume,  Joseph,  250. 
Hunt,   Leigh,    118,   181-183. 
Huntington,  C.  P.,  188. 
Hutton,  Laurence,  43,  44. 

Ingersoll,  Robert  G.,  155. 
Ingram,  John  H.,  159. 
Ireland,  Alexander,   182. 
Irving,  Washington,  143-147. 

ackson,  Andrew,  14,  24. 
ackson,  T.  J.,  30. 
[ames,  G.  P.  R.,  184,  185. 
ames,  Henry,  40. 
efferson,    Thomas,    13,    274, 
277. 


Jeffrey,  Misses,   119. 
Jerdan,  William,  187. 
Jerrold,  Blanchard,  228. 
Jerrold,  Douglas,  101,  171. 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  32,  87, 

113-115,   192,  227,  237-239, 

243- 
Johnson,    President   Samuel, 

128,  129. 

Johnston,  J.  E.,  30. 
Johnstone,  John,   141,  142. 
Joline,  Anthony,  299. 
Jones,  Gabriel,  62. 
Judas  Iscariot,  218. 
Juvenal,  247. 

Kauffman,  Angelica,  261,  262. 
Keats,    John,    118-121,    136, 

192. 

Keene,  Laura,  49. 
Kenney,  Mr.,  178. 
Kenyon,  Lord,  306. 
Keyes,  E.  D.,  20,  21. 
King,  Archbishop,  234. 
Kinglake,  A.  W.,  186,  190. 
Kipling,     Rudyard,     74,     95, 

124,  125,  159. 

Knowles,  J.  Sheridan,  199. 
Kosciuszko,  Count,  276. 

Lafayette,    Marquis   de,    102, 

103. 
Lamb,  Charles,  27,  148,   158, 

177-179,  193-195,  214,  216, 

218. 

Landor,  W.  S.,  175-177. 
Lang,  Andrew,  I,  141. 
Langdon,  John,  293. 
Lansdowne,  Marquis  of,  210, 

243-244 

Lawson,  James,  38. 
Lazarus,  208. 
Lee,  Charles,  281,  282. 
Lee,  Richard  Henry,  303. 
Leigh,    Chandos,  193,   194. 
Leigh,  Mrs.,  83. 
I  Lemon,  Mark,   170,  171. 
|  Lewes,  George  H.,  33. 
I  Lewis,  Francis,  303. 


312 


Index 


Lewis,  James,  50,  149. 
Libanius  the  Sophist,  207. 
Lincoln,    Abraham,    65,    66, 

3<>5- 

Lincoln,  Benjamin,  289. 
Livingston,  Philip,  33. 
Lockhart,  J.  G.,  27,  88,  141, 

205,  250,  251. 
Longfellow,    H.    W.,    96,    97, 

201,    202,    222. 

Longmans,  The,  211. 
Louis  Philippe,  55. 
Louis  XIV.,  209,  210. 
Louis  XV.,  209. 
Lovelace,  Richard,  240. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  118,  220,  221. 
Lubbock,  Sir  John,  257. 
Lynch,  Thomas,  Jr.,  4,   136, 

192,  304,  305. 
Lyndhurst,  Lord,   1 10. 
Lytton,  Lord,  188. 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  88,  91,  103, 

1 68,  169,  230. 
McCarthy,  Justin,   199. 
McClellan,  George  B.,  85. 
McCosh,  James,  238,  299. 
McCullough,  John,  49. 
Mclntosh,  Lachlan,  5. 
McKean,  Thomas,  291. 
Mackenzie,  R.  S.,  66. 
McKinley,  William,  53. 
McMaster,  J.  B.,  168. 
Macready,  W.  C.,   197-199. 
Maine,  Due  de,  210. 
Maintenon,  Mme.  de,  208,  209. 
Mansfield,  Lord,   103,   104. 
Marcy,  W.  L.,   131. 
Mario,  Marchese  di  Candia,  52 
Marion,  Francis,   127. 
Markham,  Pauline,  51. 
Martin,  Baron,  79. 
Mary  Magdalene,  208. 
Massett,  S.  C.,  51. 
Mathews,  Cornelius,  171,  172. 
Maty,  Matthew,  236,  237. 
Maxwell,  William,  282,  283. 
Melbourne,  Lord,  8,  250,  251. 
Mellick,  A.  D.,  281. 


Meredith,  George,  164-166, 184 
Mill,  J.  S.,  253- 
Miller,  Samuel  F.,  301. 
Milton,  John,  91. 
Mirabeau,  21. 
Mitchell,  S.  Weir,  138. 
Mitford,  Mary  R.,  195-199, 222. 
Moir,  D.  M.,  27. 
Moliere,  101. 
Moltke,  Von,  269. 
Monroe,  James,  21. 
Montagu,  R.  W.,  227. 
Moore,  Sir  John,  241. 
Moore,  Thomas,  25,  210-213, 

220. 

More,  Hannah,  240,  241. 
Morgan,  Daniel,  275. 
Morgan,  George  D.,  144. 
Morris,  Clara,  149. 
Morris,  Robert,  136,  291,  303. 


Morton,  John,  3. 

rd,   195. 
Moylan,  Stephen,  283,  284. 


Moxon,  Edwai 


Mucianus,  207. 

Murray,  William  Vans,  297. 

Napier,  Lord,  27. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  24,  99, 

196,  216,  231,  269. 
Napoleon    III.,    23,    24,    186, 

188,  189. 

Nelson,  Lord,  105,  106. 
Netherclift,  Frederick,  207. 
Newman,  Cardinal,   155. 
Nightingale,     Florence,     190, 

191. 

North,  Ernest  D.,  265. 
Norton,  Charles  Eliot,  221. 

O'Connell,    Daniel,    196,    222. 
O'Conor,  Charles,  II,  12,  47. 
Oliphant,  Mrs.,  212. 
Oilier,  Charles,  177,  182,  184. 
O'Reilly,  Miles,  77,  78. 
Osgood,  James  R.,   125,  265. 
Ossory,  Earl  of,  238,  239. 
Oxley  (publisher),  253. 


Palmerston,  Lord,  238. 


313 


Index 


Pardoc,  Julia,  222,  223. 
Parkes,  George,  149.  t 

Parkman,  Dr.,  133. 
Parsons,  T.  W.,  201,  202,  203. 
Peacock,  T.  L.,  212. 
Pearsons,   213. 
Penn,  William,  258,  259. 
Percy,  Bishop,  233. 
Petty,  William,  243-245. 
Phillips,   Ambrose,   230,   2310 
Phillips,   Charles,  99-101. 
Phcenix,  John,  13,  55. 
Pickering  (publisher),  260. 
Pindar,  Peter,  245-247. 
Piozzi  (Thrale),  Hester  Lynch, 

116-118. 

Pitt,  William  (the  elder),  246. 
Pitt,   William  (the  younger), 

231. 

Pliny,  207. 
Poe,  Edgar  A..  157-162,  175, 

192,  219. 

Poore,  Ben  :  Perley,  66. 
Pope,    Alexander,     121,    192, 

193,  231-233. 
Porter,  Lucy,  116. 
Porter,  Maria  S.,  203. 
Powers,    Hiram,   262-264. 
Pratt,  Sir  John,  107^ 
Pringles,  The,  305. 
Procter,  B.  W.,  178-181. 
Ptolemy  III.,  206. 
Purcell,  Henry,  238. 
Putnam,  George  P.,  174. 
Putnam,  Israel,  285,  286. 

Reade,  Charles,  166,  167. 
Reynolds,  Mrs.  Frances,  115, 

116. 
Reynolds,    Sir    Joshua,    115, 

261. 

Rice,  A.  T.,  155. 
Rideing,  W.  H.,  67. 
Ristori,  Adelaide,  51. 
Riviere  (binder),  21 1. 
Robertson,  Eric  S.,  222. 
Robinson,  Everard,   301. 
Robinson,  Henry  Crabbe,  197, 

214.  246. 


Robinson,  Serjeant,  57. 
Rodney,  Ca?sar,  299,  300. 
Rodney,   Thomas,   300. 
Roe,  E.  P,,  74. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  44,  62. 
Romney,   George,  9. 
Roosevelt,   Theodore,   13. 
Rosebery,   Lord,   151,  152. 
Rossetti,  Christina,  96. 
Rousseau,  J.  J.,  237. 
Rush,  Benjamin,  291. 
Ruskin,   John,  9-11. 
Russell,   Lord,  58. 
Russell,  Lord  John,  21 1. 
Russell,  Lord  William,  99. 

Saint-Beuve,  209. 

Sala,  George  Augustus,  220, 

229. 

Saltonstall,   Dudley,   302. 
Saunders   (publisher),   253. 
Scammell,     Alexander,     286- 

288. 

Schumacher,  Ludwig,  239. 
Schuyler,  Philip,  275,  289. 
Scott  and  Davey,  207, 
Scott,  Sir  Water.  88,  98,  141. 

248,  249. 
Scott,   Winfield,    18,    19,   131, 

252. 

Severn,  Joseph,  118. 
Shakespeare,  William,  79,  94, 

204. 

Shelburne,  Lord,  243-245. 
Shelley,  P.  B.,  177,  178. 
Shelton,  F.  W.,  143. 
Shepard,  Edward  M.,   17. 
Sheridan,  R.  B.,  101,  201. 
Sherman,  W.  T.,  74. 
Shew,  Mrs.,  160. 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  203,  204. 
Sims,  Richard,  207. 
Simms,  W.  G.,  75- 
Smith,  Horatio,  222. 
Smith,  James,  222. 
Smith,  William,  279,  280. 
Sophocles,  206,  208. 
Southey,  Robert,  25,  213-217. 
Spencer   Ambrose,  147. 


Index 


Spencer,  Earl,  268. 
Spencer.  Joseph,  282. 
Spring,  Robert,  29. 
Stanley,  Mr.,  260. 
Stark,  John,  288,  289. 
Stedman,  E.  C.,  226, 
Stephen,  Leslie,  27,  83.   227, 

232,   238. 

Stephen,  Mrs.  Leslie,  221. 
Sterne,  Laurence,  68. 
Steuben,  Baron  von,  276,  277. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  65,  74. 
Stirk,  John,  305. 
Stirling,  Lord,  240. 
Stockton,  Richard,  279= 
Stowe,  H.  B.,  82. 
Stowell,  Lord,   104,   105,   115. 
Strahan,  William,  113. 
Strangford,  Lord,  211. 
Sugden,  Sir  Edward,  109. 
Sullivan,    Sir     Arthur,     153, 

154- 

Sutphen,  Van  Tassel,  134, 
Sutton,  C.  W.,  1 80. 
Swayne,  Noah  H.,  169. 
Swift,    Jonathan,     192.    233- 

236. 

Taine,  H.,  212,  214. 
Talfourd,  T.  N.,  62,  194-198. 
Talleyrand,  Marquis  de    133,. 
Tarquinius  Priscus,   2. 
Taylor,  Tom,  170. 
Taylor,  Zachary,   134. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  88-90,  176, 

251,  252. 

Tennyson,  Hallam,  88,  91. 
Tennyson,  Mrs.,  90. 
Thackeray.  W.  M.,  67,  70,  91, 

183,  185,  223,  225,  252. 
Thompson,  Lydia,  51. 
Thorwaldsen,  B.,  263- 
Thurlow,  Lord,   242. 
Ticknor,  W.  D.,  201. 
Tilden,  Samuel  J.,  216. 
Tilghman,  Edward,  in,    112. 
Tindal,   Sir  Nicholas,   100. 
Tree,  Ellen,  197,  198. 
Trevelyan,  Sir  G.  O.,  88. 


Trollope,    Anthony,  74,  223 

225. 

Trumbull,  John,  4. 
Truro,  Lord,   109,   195. 
Tucker,  Dean,  24 I. 
Turner,   James  W.,  292. 
Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  211. 
Twain,  Mark,  101. 
Tyler,   John,   136. 
Tyler,  William,  217. 

Upcott,  William,  68. 

Valpy,  260. 

Van 'Buren,  D.  T.,  133. 
Van  Buren,  John,  47,  263. 
Van   Buren,  Martin,  16,  263, 

264. 

Van  Ness,  W.  P.,  147. 
Varnum,  J.  M.,  269. 
Victoria,  Queen,  8,  9,  230. 
Vining,   John,  33. 
Vrain-Lucas,  208. 

Wade,  Benjamin  F.,  55. 

Wainewright,  Thomas  G.,  148. 

Wallack,  Lester,  54. 

Walpole,  Horace,  88. 

Walton,  George,  303,  305. 

Ward,  Artemus,   14,  55,   170. 

Warren,  Samuel,  100,  101,  222. 

Washington,  George,  4,  13, 
53,  102,  127,  128,  196,  197, 
269-272,  279,  280,  295. 

Watts,  A.  A.,  254. 

Webster,  Dr.  J.  W.,  133. 

Webster,  Noah,  133. 

Weems,  M.  L.f  127,  128. 

Wesley,   John,   257,  258. 

Wetmore,  P.  M.,  237. 

Wheeler,  F.,  210. 

Whipple,  William,  303. 

Whistler,  J.  McN.,  137. 

White,   Gilbert,   244,  245. 

White,  R.  G.,  51. 

Whitman,  Walt,  157,  163. 

Whittingham,    C.,   204. 

Wilde,  R.  H.,  263. 

Wilkes,  John,  242,  243. 


315 


Index 


Wilkie,  David,  199, 
Wilson,  J.  G.,  37 
Wilson,  Woodrow,  273. 
Withers,  George,  260. 
Witherspoon,  John,  298,  299. 
Wolcot,  Dr.  John,  245-247. 
Wolsey,   Cardinal,    107. 
Woodberry,  G.  E.,  159. 


Wordsworth,  William,  62,  197, 

218. 

Wroth,  Warwick,  197. 
Wyeth,  John  A.,  138. 
Wynne,  Sir  Watkyn,  238. 
Wythe,  George,  300,  301. 

Zucchi,  Antonio,  261. 


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DEC  1  7  1 

184 

RECEIVED  B* 

i 

NUV  I  6  1984 

CIRCULATION  DEI 

T. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  1/83         BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


6000720001 


270626 

X7     (  *-r~" 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAIvIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


